Repercussions: Part 2
by Elianna22
Summary: The Suite Life gang is all grown up. Will a series of unexpected and shocking developments bring them closer together, or tear them apart? SEQUEL to "Just One of the Guys" and "Repercussions: Part 1." NEW Chapter 24: The Stake-Out.
1. You're Finally Here!

**A/N: Welcome to Part 2 of **_**Repercussions**_**. This story continues to explore the theme of heroes that began in **_**Just of the Guys**_**. The tale really took on a life of its own as I wrote it. As always, so much thanks to you guys for following **_**Just One of the Guys**_** and **_**Repercussions: Part 1**_** and for the amazing, awesome reviews. And now, as Future Woody would say, "Come along for the ride…"**

**The Creative Partner/Boyfriend and I gratefully acknowledge woundedhearts for her sensitive, insightful input and S.K. Millz for careful proofreading.**

**Disclaimer: All characters from the **_**Suite Life**_** series belong to Disney. Other crossover characters will be credited by chapter. All remaining characters belong to me (basically anyone whose name you haven't seen before), as does the plot, which does not portray any sequence of events shown in any episode of the **_**Suite Life**_** series. **

**Nine years ago, Bailey had a big decision to make. What did she decide to do?**

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**Prologue / Chapter 1: "You're Finally Here!"**

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**SUNDAY, JUNE 30, 2019**

"Morning, Mr. Martin," Sam, Cody Martin's favourite driver, greeted him. "To the Tipton?"

"Where else?" Cody sighed gloomily. "But thanks for asking." He settled against the cushioned leather seat and waited for his squadron of bodyguards to lodge itself in the back half of the limousine. At least he had the front half to himself, once Sam had slid shut the panel behind the driver's seat.

_Today is just another day_, he told himself through the throbbing haze of jetlag and depression as the limo pulled out of the private passengers' pick-up area. The 10-minute drive between Logan International Airport and downtown Boston would be the only solitude he'd get today, and he intended to make use of it. His most pressing priorities included preparing for a rescheduled conference call with the reporter from _Forbes_ magazine and reading a 50-page report on hospitality innovations that Mr. Moseby—Marion—had emailed him.

_Will I ever get used to being Mr. Moseby's boss, or having bodyguards?_ Cody wondered as he fished his two BlackBerry® Gold devices from his Prada briefcase. _Or anything else?_

Even now at 26, he was still the youngest-ever senior executive in the history of the Tipton empire. Who could have imagined that his tenth-grade Home Ec project would lead to what _Forbes_ called the business comeback of the early 21st century? His ascent to Senior Vice President, Innovation at the newly minted Tipton Martin Industries would be covered in the magazine's September 16th issue. "_Innovate during a downturn_," he tapped into a note on his business BlackBerry. He'd learned that lesson long before earning his MBA. "_Re-privatize when shareholders hate you._"

A frightful tuft of lint on the sleeve of his dark blue custom-tailored suit jacket caught his eye. Anxiety skittered down his spine, almost enough to cause goosebumps to erupt on his arms. Cody reached into the briefcase for his trusty lint brush. "_Always carry a lint brush_," he tapped after replacing the brush in its already designated pocket. The briefcase had been delivered to his hotel room in Seoul, however many hours ago that had been. He thought he recognized the handwriting of the "Happy Birthday" scrawled on the attached card as that of Wilfrid's newest personal assistant. _The next Mrs. Tipton, no doubt._

Both BlackBerry devices were buzzing like wasps' nests, making even short notes impossible to finish. Cody picked up his personal BlackBerry and scanned the emails and text messages piling up: _Board nominations due August 15 ... yur suit is hear ... World Peace Academy Newsletter ... Happy birthday, man! ... Chel-C is a looser..._

Exhaustion assaulted him. Cody switched off the BlackBerry devices, something he rarely ever did, and tilted his head onto the padded headrest. Why couldn't he have met up with his parents in France—or stayed a few extra days in Seoul? The beautiful Korean capital had become one of his favourite cities. But not returning home would have caused the shit to hit the fan all the way from Boston. _One more time, with Seoul_, he contemplated. _Make that "with soul." God, I'm still losing my mind..._

The limo was a couple of minutes away from the hotel now. Cody checked his multi-faced Rolex to calculate whether he could take another Xanax yet. The prospect of tonight's party opened up a canyon of dread. As much as he disliked medication, he had to concede these anti-anxiety pills did what they were supposed to—kept him from falling in. One small miracle. Sam pulled up to the hotel before Cody could open a bottle of San Pellegrino from the limo's fully stocked bar, so he would have to wait until he was in the suite.

Sam opened Cody's door and he stepped out into the blaze of morning sunshine.

"Hey, Norman," he said automatically. The untalkative doorman had been a fixture at the revolving doors ever since Cody moved to the Tipton at age 12.

The normally expressionless Norman gave him a strange look. "Hello, Mr. Martin," he responded in his usual quiet voice. His jaw seemed to twitch as he spoke and his elderly features paled, the creases around his mouth deepening into folds.

"What's up, Norman?" Cody had a few moments to kill while his bodyguards emerged from the limo. "Is the ghost of Suite 613 back?" he joked, a pathetic attempt at humour.

Norman simply gestured to the lobby. Cody decided to head inside. Having to wait for the bodyguards always irritated him. Today, of all days, he could not cope with more stress. Not one single fragment.

The hotel manager, Esteban Ramirez, rushed up to him as soon as he stepped into the lobby. "Oh, Mr. Cody," he exclaimed, breathless. "You're finally here!"

_Finally?_ It was only 8:30 in the morning. Cody followed Esteban's gaze across the lobby.

His heart crashed into his ribcage.

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**A/N: When I started writing this story Disney hadn't given the twins an official birthday, so I chose June 30 because it's halfway through the year. Each chapter in Part 2 will have a date—because you guys know how I like to mess with timelines :) Please read and review. Thanks so much. Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	2. MILLICENT!

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews for the Prologue. I love seeing what you guys think of a new story.

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**Chapter 2: "MILLICENT!"

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**SUNDAY, JUNE 30, 2019**

The penthouse suite on the 25th floor of the Boston Tipton Hotel was a hive of activity on this particular Sunday morning. Florists, decorators, and assistants flurried through the labyrinth of rooms, carrying flowers, streamers and an assortment of packages. At the centre of it all—exactly where she wanted to be—stood 29-year-old London Tipton, radiant in a purple silk Donna Cabonna pantsuit and black Raven Baxter pumps, her dark hair pulled into an elegantly casual chignon. In each perfectly manicured hand she held a pink diamond-studded BlackBerry®, one for texting, one for talking. Ivana II, her fluffy white Pomeranian, snoozed on a velvet chaise.

"Hold on, Maddie," London said to the image of her best friend in her left-hand BlackBerry. "MILLICENT!" she roared, causing Ivana II to scamper away.

A flustered dark-haired woman wearing a headset hurried into the main wing of London's sprawling closet. "Yes, Miss London?" she asked in a panicked voice.

London began to dictate a series of orders at her newest personal assistant: "Call Francisco and check that my Paris Original gown is ready. Double-check that the champagne fountain and hibiscus wreaths will be here by noon. Call Esteban and make sure the Imperial Suite is ready for Carey and Kurt. And make sure the limo is at the airport to pick them up this time."

"Yes, Miss London." Millicent trembled like a price tag on a dress at an Arturo Vitalli sample sale. "Anything else, Miss London?"

"That's it for now," London decreed, motioning impatiently to the open French doors of her closet. "You may go." As she watched Millicent scurry down the hall, London wondered how she had let Esteban talk her into hiring this hideously dressed freak. Apparently Millicent had once been the hotel's Candy Counter Girl, but London had no memory of this. How could she be expected to remember every lowly, fashion-impaired minion who had toiled at her daddy's hotel? She fully expected to replace Millicent any day now. Most her assistants only lasted a few days or weeks at most, before they either quit or did something that made London fire them. Millicent had actually done a pretty good job so far, but that didn't mean her expiration date wasn't fast approaching.

When Millicent reached the end of the hall, she headed toward Bodice Bay. London froze in horror. "Not that wing!" she screeched. _Nobody_ went into Bodice Bay—not even London herself.

Millicent almost burst into tears. "Sorry, sorry, I forgot," she gibbered. "Please don't fire me, Miss London."

Since London needed everything to go smoothly today, she felt she could pardon this unthinkable crime. "Just don't let it happen again," she threatened. "Or else."

Still shaking, Millicent hurried in the opposite direction, toward Sandal Land, and disappeared from London's view.

"Hello, I'm still here!"

London turned her attention back to Maddie Fitzpatrick-Bristow. "Are you _sure_ you can't come to the party tonight?" she wheedled, texting with her right hand as she spoke. "I've already had your name tag printed up."

"I can't, Trevor is away till Tuesday lobbying with Senator Babatundé," Maddie said apologetically. "I'd have to leave the girls with Booger—I mean Elder Liam. You know how he scares them with all that talk about hellfire and brimstone. But London..." Maddie hesitated. "Is this birthday party really such a good idea?"

"_Yes_," London insisted. She didn't want to have this conversation again. "A party is _always_ a good idea. Plus, it's awesome for the Foundation."

"Well, I suppose you're right about that," Maddie agreed.

London _knew_ she was right. "Anyway," she plowed on, eager to share the exciting news, "you'll never guess who's going to be at the luncheon next Friday—Jason Harrington! Remember him?"

"Isn't he the guy whose dad owns all of Oregon, Idaho and now Montana?"

"Yeah, Kyle Lawford is getting him to run for our Board of Directors. Take that, Save the Trees!" London jumped up and down. Stealing the most powerful board member from the Brimmer family's charity filled her with glee. She would _never_ forgive Brimmer International for trying to buy her daddy's hotels.

Maddie beamed. "Congratulations, London. That's terrific!"

It was indeed. "Yay, me!" London cheered, hopping on her toes again. "And screw you, Chelsea!" Chelsea Brimmer had once been London's other best friend.

"London." Maddie began to speak in her maternal voice. "This is for a _peace_ foundation. That's the _opposite_ of war—remember?"

"Whatever." London wasn't going to let anyone rain on her parade. "So, you _are_ coming to the luncheon, right?" she asked. "I'll send the private jet for you."

"I think I can make it," Maddie replied to London's relief. "Kaley and Kassidy can stay with Trevor's parents and I can come up for the whole weekend."

"Fantabulous!" London pictured a girls' weekend of shopping, mani-pedis, and more shopping. She hadn't seen Maddie, who lived in Philadelphia, for nearly three months. Maddie was always busy with her young daughters and her husband. "But I still wish you could come tonight," she added. "It's going to be THE party of the summer—way better than Portia's stupid yacht thingy."

"You'll have a great time, even without me there," Maddie assured her.

"I ordered the new pink bustier set from Agent Provocateur for the after-party," London confided, a blush warming her cheeks. "He can never resist me in Agent Provocateur lingerie." Fighting back her doubts, London hoped she was right about this, too.

Maddie just laughed. "In that case, I should leave the catalogue out for Trevor."

At that moment Millicent flew back down the hall, headset in hand. "Just tell her to come down to the lobby!" a voice shouted. Millicent was on the verge of a meltdown as she held out the headset to London.

"You better go see what he wants," Maddie said. "It sounds important."

"Coming, sweetie," London said into the mouthpiece and put her texting BlackBerry on the chaise. Just in case the Moroccan ambassador had arrived early for the party, she slipped her own name tag over her head—_London Tipton, Director, Fundraising & Events Management, Tipton Martin Foundation for World Peace_. Then she made her way to the front door of the suite.

Maddie spoke up from her left hand. "Take me with you."

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**A/N: A few more familiar faces. And Booger Liam has undergone a major change. Please read and review. I love your ideas! Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	3. A Bright June Afternoon

**Disclaimer: I own Reinhardt Stafford and Lauren Moon. Disney owns (almost) everyone else.

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**Chapter 3: A Bright June Afternoon

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_It's a bright June afternoon, it never gets dark  
Wah-wah! Here comes the sun  
Get your green, green tambourine, let's play in the park  
Wah-wah! Here comes the sun_

_Roxette, "June Afternoon"_

[-]

**ONE YEAR AGO...**

**FRIDAY, JUNE 29, 2018**

The argument grew louder as Zack Martin approached the secretary's desk.

"I don't _want_ to go to the Hofbräuhaus!"

"But _Hannah,_ it's world famous..."

Still holding both cups of coffee, Zack turned to the secretary. "Hey, Sandy, what's going on in there?" he asked innocently.

The middle-aged brunette looked up at him from her computer, sighed with the weariness of a worn-out administrator, and replied, "We have another celeb on a USO tour. Her entourage is being difficult."

_Hmmm_, thought Zack. Aloud he said, "I'll see if there's anything I can do."

Sandy began to shake her head. "Sir, I don't think–"

Zack cut her off with his trademark grin. "No worries, I was just going to drop off this coffee for Stafford anyway." He stepped past Sandy's workstation and backed into the office.

"Hey, everyone," he greeted the four grumpy occupants.

Reinhardt Stafford eyed him with unvarnished suspicion. "Martin...?" he asked with an edge to his voice.

"I was just in the neighbourhood, sir," Zack explained, keeping his grin in place, "and thought I'd bring you a coffee." He set a steaming cup of premium German roast on the base commander's desk. "What's going on?"

Taking the coffee, Stafford gestured to his guests. "We're having a little issue with Ms. Montana's itinerary."

The leggy blonde shot daggers toward the short sandy-haired lughead standing beside her. "Jackson here is being a selfish prick," she complained in a sweet Tennessee twang. "He wants to go to that big beer hall in Munich. And I've been on the road for a year and I'm exhausted. I just want to stay here, relax and get ready for my show tonight." She folded her arms across her chest and pouted. "But we only have one escort."

Corporal Lauren Moon sent Zack a frustrated look. He could read every pained note on the Marine's pretty face.

It was time to propose a solution.

"Well, sir," he said, turning back to Stafford, "since I'm here, I don't mind lending a hand." He took a sip of his coffee and waited expectantly.

The base commander rolled his eyes and a smile tugged his lips. "OK, Martin, you win," he grunted, "since you're the birthday boy."

"Actually, it's tomorrow," Zack pointed out. "But thanks." Stafford had obviously seen through his ploy, however they were fairly good friends and Zack knew he hadn't overstepped any boundaries. He could afford to break the rules now.

"Well, Ms. Moon, I guess I'm all yours." With a suggestive smile, Jackson tried to put his arm around the small of Moon's back.

"If that hand touches me, you _will_ lose it," Moon snapped at him. The handgun on her hip indicated she meant business. She opened the door to leave and Jackson flashed two excited thumbs' up before following her out.

Once the door had closed, Stafford addressed the singer. "Ms. Montana, meet your new escort for your USO tour date with us."

Zack put down his own coffee and took her hand. "Sergeant First Class Zack Martin," he reintroduced himself. "At your service." He kissed her hand in the cavalier manner that always worked.

The singer's lively blue eyes lit up with recognition. "Hey," she exclaimed. "I ate cake off you once."

Stafford guffawed.

[***]

"_Willkommen_ to Boeblingen," Zack said to Hannah after the paperwork had been completed and they'd left Stafford's office. He opened the main door for her gallantly. "After you."

They walked out into the bright June afternoon. The singer pulled up her hood and put on a huge pair of sunglasses with white plastic frames. "Imagine running into you here," she marveled, looking him up and down. "Sweet niblets, you've grown up a lot."

He returned the compliment. "So have you." Dressed in a tight-fitting purple L.A. Lakers hoodie, white jeans, and checkered high-tops, Hannah Montana looked nothing like the skinny 15-year-old who'd eaten cake off his shirt at a birthday party for his mom at the Tipton. He'd been 13 at the time. Grown-up Hannah was seriously hot. Zack was glad his desert camouflage fatigues were fresh out of the laundry that morning.

A rosy tint coloured Hannah's cheeks and she let out a giggle. "Why thank you, soldier boy." Then she asked, "So is this your home base?"

Automatically he answered, "Yeah, I've been stationed here with the 10th Special Forces for about three years, while doing a bunch of training missions and other deployments." The U.S. military base in Boeblingen, a small town in south-western Germany, felt more or less like home, which gave him an unsettling sense of stability. "But I'm heading back to Boston on Wednesday," he continued. "Two weeks' leave, then I get my new assignment." Zack didn't know where he'd be going next, but he welcomed uncertainty and adventure. They were part of what he loved about the army.

"I'm going back next week, too," said Hannah. "I can't wait to get home to Malibu and meet my new baby sister. My stepmom Grace is going to be a great mother. She's really warm and emotional, but still kinda wild."

They had been standing outside the base headquarters for a couple of minutes. "Hey, why don't you show me around?" she suggested. "Suddenly I'm feeling a lot less tired."

As they meandered along the main road, Hannah's sunny Southern charm eased Zack further into civilian mode. He pointed to various sites, including the Marine Forces Europe headquarters, the USO Centre where Hannah would be performing, and the year-old Joint U.S.–European Forces Training Program compound.

They spent a while watching a team of Marines at target practice on a shooting range visible from the road.

"Look at those Girl Scouts," he scoffed to Hannah. "They couldn't hit the broad side of a barn." _Amateurs_. His days in the Marines seemed like eons ago.

"Hey, speaking of Memory Lane," she said when they resumed strolling, "how come I didn't see you on that teen cruise to Hawaii? When was that, anyway, 2010?"

"I wanted to surprise my girlfriend for Spring Break, but I couldn't get time off," he explained. "My mom had just sent me away to military school in Michigan."

"Oh, that's right. Too bad you couldn't make it. It was really awesome." The warm breeze blew wisps of blonde hair out from under her hood.

"Bailey told me all about it. She was such a huge fan of yours." Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he heard a delighted scream, "_I met Hannah Montana!_" Another recollection surfaced. "She even sent you a corncob carving of yourself once."

"Bailey..." Hannah's forehead furrowed in thought. "Name rings a bell... does she have long red hair?"

Smiling, Zack replied, "That would be her."

"I met her at the after-party. She was hanging out with some girl who looked an awful lot like Mikayla." Hannah grimaced at the name of her one-time teen pop rival. "London and Cody were also there. I run into London every now and then. Haven't seen your brother since I did a concert at the TD Garden in Boston two or three years ago, though."

This was no shock. "Well, he's a busy guy. London's dad used his old boys' network to get Cody early admission into Harvard's business program. He got his MBA at 22 and went straight into Tipton Industries. Now he's some kind of VP."

"Cool," remarked Hannah. "You must be so proud of him."

"Yeah," he agreed as he brushed away a strand of hair that was stuck to Hannah's glossy pink mouth. He was used to feeling proud of his twin brother, younger by 10 minutes. It hadn't always been easy being compared to Cody, who constantly earned awards for top grades and endless extracurricular activities. But the scorecard had evened out now that they were adults and had their own very different lives. Feeling generous, and because he really missed Cody, whom he hadn't seen for a year, he added, "My brother did earn his success. It wasn't just handed to him because he hooked up with the boss's daughter."

"But," he said, shaking his head as he had many times before, "I can't believe his tenth-grade Home Ec project saved Tipton Industries from bankruptcy."

Hannah stopped walking. "What was it?"

"A patent on a mechanical spice rack," he told her.

"A patent on a mechanical spice rack?" she echoed.

The riches-to-rags-to-riches story still baffled Zack. "Wacky, huh? Apparently the world was just crying out for such a gadget. Tipton earned enough from sales to buy back all the company shares, which were worth crap anyway, and some of the assets he lost. Starting with the cruise ship division that Spencer Moseby shipwrecked."

A cloud passed over the sun and Hannah took off her sunglasses. "I remember Spencer Moseby from the teen cruise. He gave me the best cabin on the ship."

Zack laughed. "No kidding." He examined the thick callus on the web of his right thumb, thinking how his family and friends in Boston loathed the older brother of Marion Moseby, former manager of the Tipton, the man he'd once lived to torment. Marion had a new job with Tipton Industries, and Spencer, who had been a multi-millionaire, now lived with his mother in Scranton, Pennsylvania.

The wind picked up. Absently Zack removed his camouflage cap and pushed his shaggy bangs back underneath before replacing it. "I should have tried harder to get Cody to add my name to that project," he mused. "Then maybe I too would be travelling the world in a private jet instead of a Chinook helicopter." He laughed again, not intending to sound bitter.

Hannah turned a brilliant smile on him, and he saw her people skills kick in like a muscular reflex. "Aren't you in Special Forces?" she asked, bumping his shoulder. "I'll bet you've done some exciting stuff."

_She's right about that._ Zack spent the rest of the afternoon regaling her with tales from his three years as a Marine, and just over three years with Special Forces. Vividly he described jumping out of airplanes and helicopters all over the world, climbing mountains in South America, sleeping in tents in the middle of deserts. As always, he saved the pièce de résistance for last—rescuing a group of Afghan children trapped under rubble after a missile had torn apart their school. The soldiers always wanted to help the kids, no matter what trouble the adults had caused.

Hannah listened attentively, exclaiming "Brave soldier boy, say _what_?" as she gazed at him over the rims of her sunglasses. These stories generally impressed girls, another of Zack's favourite aspects of army life.

As he talked, he left out the parts he usually did—watching two of his buddies get blown to bits by a grenade during his first tour in Iraq, getting shot at by third-rate snipers in an African war zone, and countless minor injuries from rough terrain, flying shrapnel, and the occasional bullet. There was no need to relive these experiences. _You just get on with it_, he reasoned. _That's what it's all about_.

At 1800 he delivered Hannah to the USO Centre as arranged. Her crew had arrived and her team of stylists was ready to begin transforming her for the concert.

"See you after the show," she said at the dressing room door.

He gave her a hug for good luck and said, flashing his trademark grin, "I'll be waiting. It's part of my job."

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**A/N: Thanks to Lodylodylody for letting me "borrow" Grace Stewart from her lovely one-shot **_**Show Me that Smile**_**. Extra thanks to the Special Forces veteran I interviewed as part of my research for this chapter. The title of the chapter refers to the vintage Roxette song "June Afternoon." The beer hall that Jackson is determined to visit is immortalized in the traditional drinking song "There's a Hofbräuhaus in Munich—one, two, drink!" OK, time to read and review. Big thanks! Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	4. I Can't Wait to See You Again

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and questions. You guys rock!

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**Chapter 4: "I Can't Wait to See You Again"

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"So how does it feel to be at the end of your tour?" Zack asked as he steered Hannah into the USO Centre's VIP room. Hannah had sung to a full crowd of adoring soldiers who were always thrilled when female celebrities showed up.

"Well, I still have two more USO dates in Wiesbaden and Brussels," Hannah replied, flapping her right hand against her side. She'd signed autographs for rabid Fannahs for an hour.

Tommy had stuck around until the last minute, fetching water bottles and extra pens for Hannah. Was he blatantly hoping for an invitation to hang out in the VIP room? Yes, yes he was.

But that was not part of the plan. Zack shot his best friend a triumphant "sorry, dude" smirk over Hannah's shoulder and closed the door.

The VIP room, a comfortable space where many a performer had unwound after a show, was populated by a lone bartender. Zack led Hannah to one of the circular tables and pulled out a chair for her. She flopped into it and propped her feet on another chair. He motioned to the tender, who quickly brought over a pitcher of iced water, two glasses and a bottle of sparkling wine.

"Thanks, Zack." Hannah accepted a glass of wine and Zack filled his own with water.

"Here's to finishing your tour," he toasted her. They clinked glasses.

"I am _so_ glad to be almost home," Hannah sighed. Fatigue showed through her concert afterglow. "I mean, I love singing, it's my whole life. But touring for a year has really taken a toll on my relationship with Jake."

Zack recognized the name from tabloids lying around in the officers' lounge, not that he read them very often. "That's too bad," he said reflexively. He reached across the table for the water pitcher. Their knuckles touched when he refilled his glass.

"Yeah, we're basically 'off' again. He's been doing a lot of filming while I've been on tour, plus promoting his latest movie. According to Academy insiders, it's a shoe-in for an Oscar." Hannah took a lengthy sip from her wine glass and stretched out her bare, tanned legs. Her short ruffled pink dress made them seem even longer.

"So what about you, soldier boy?" she asked then. "Are you still with that girl?"

That was a simple question to answer. "No, we broke up, like, seven years ago."

"Well, not everyone can be 'the one,' "she said in a philosophical tone. Peeling at the label on the wine bottle, she sang softly,

_He's got somethin' special  
He's got somethin' special  
And when he's lookin' at me  
I wanna get all sentimental_

_He's got somethin' special  
He's got somethin' special  
I can hardly breathe somethin's tellin' me  
Tellin' me maybe he could be the one_

The familiarity of the lyrics struck Zack immediately. "Bailey loved that song," he recalled. "She used to sing it to me over the phone when I was in Michigan and she was on the ship." Swirling his glass, he tipped an ice cube into his mouth and crunched it.

"Glad I could help," Hannah said. Her smile showed off her dazzling white teeth. "Long distance relationships are tough. What else did you do to make it last?"

"We met up on school breaks," he elaborated, "and she got a summer job at a farm near Landon Academy, milking cows and shucking hogs."

Hannah laughed. "Don't you mean shucking corn? If you try to shuck a pig, it'll bite you."

"Whatever." Zack crunched another ice cube. He wasn't one to dwell on the past, but it was all coming back to him now. She'd had a way of surprising him, that feisty farm girl who'd started out as his roommate at sea school and become so much more. Her fearlessness, her wild side, her incredible passion, had amazed him. No girl before or since had made him feel so completely like he was her hero.

"So then what happened?" Hannah's question returned him to the empty VIP room. The wine seemed to emphasize her Tennessee twang.

The memories were already in his mind and Hannah was easy to talk to. "We had an awesome summer after junior year, and she came back after senior year. But she got sick and went home early. Then she called a couple of weeks later, said it was over, that we were going in different directions. She was all excited about her scholarship to Yale. So I went off to California for boot camp, joined the Marines and that was that."

"You went to California with an aching in your heart?" Hannah hummed a few bars of the Led Zeppelin classic.

That sounded pretty accurate. "Somethin' like that," he said. "Haven't heard from her since. But summer in Northern Michigan ... man, those were the days..." He thought of them more often than he cared to admit, those lazy hazy days that seemed like they could last forever. The sparkling wine looked suddenly tempting. Clearly it had loosened Hannah's tongue, but he knew he shouldn't drink on the job.

"Summertime in Northern Michigan, huh?" Hannah wore a faraway expression, her eyes looking somewhere over his shoulder. Then she got to her feet. Using the wine bottle as a microphone, she began to sing:

_It was 1989, my thoughts were short my hair was long  
Caught somewhere between a boy and man  
She was seventeen and she was far from in-between  
It was summertime in Northern Michigan  
_  
She swivelled her hips as she sang, her voice growing sweetly husky, her hair falling over her face.

_Splashing through the sand bar  
Talking by the campfire  
It's the simple things in life, like when and where  
We didn't have no internet  
But man I never will forget  
The way the moonlight shined upon her hair  
_  
Zack could feel the sight of her mesmerizing him. The former teen pop tart was irresistible. No other way to put it. He stood up to join her and placed his hands on her hips. She passed him the wine bottle. He took just one gulp, feeling it fizzle into his nose, and gave the bottle back to her. They swayed together, leaning into each other, as she continued to sing.

_And we were trying different things  
We were smoking funny things  
Making love out by the lake to our favorite songs  
Sipping whiskey out the bottle, not thinking 'bout tomorrow  
Singing Sweet home Alabama all summer long  
Singing Sweet home Alabama all summer long_

They moved closer and closer, finding a rhythm, until Hannah raised her eyes. Her eyelashes fluttered. "Come walk me back to my plane, soldier boy," she invited, her twang growing even stronger.

Zack took the wine bottle from her and put it on the table. "I was going to do that anyway," he informed her. Sliding his arm through hers, he let his lips brush the top of her head. "It's also part of my job."

[***]

The interior of Hannah's private jet was vast and plush. Zack had never seen such an opulent space, not even at the Tipton. The sloping ceiling was the only giveaway that he was inside a plane. Hannah waited outside on the steps while he performed a safety check, moving all the sofa cushions, shining his flashlight into every corner, and examining the emergency exits for evidence of tampering.

"All clear," he declared and held out a hand to her.

Stepping lightly, she led him to a concertina door at the back of the plane. "Here's my bedroom," she announced. A note of anticipation was definitely audible.

He switched on the overhead light, flooding the room with a soft yellowish glow, and repeated the procedure. Nothing was amiss. A huge courtesy gift basket sat on the king-sized bed. Detaching the tactical knife from his belt, he sliced into the plastic wrapping. German gourmet items spilled onto the covers.

"Hey, I'll bet there's some cake in there," Hannah said, coming up behind him.

Zack responded by smothering her mouth with his, confident he wouldn't be wearing a shirt this time.

[***]

It wasn't overly difficult to say good-bye to Hannah the next morning, but slightly more so to stop kissing her once he was standing in the doorway of her room. He was back in his fatigues and combat boots, and she wore a filmy negligee. Jackson snored on a sofa. There was no sign of Corporal Moon.

"So, I guess I'll see you at the wedding." Hannah kept her arms around him just tightly enough.

"Yeah, for sure," Zack replied, his lips touching hers. She'd taken off her blonde wig last night and now her hair hung down her back in soft brown waves. He ran his fingers through them and twisted a small lock around his left index finger. As beautiful and sexy as Hannah was, he thought involuntarily of another face.

"Promise me you won't tell anyone I'm really a brunette," she said then.

"No worries, Hannah. Your secret's safe with me." He kissed her as passionately as he could, trying to stay in the present. She was Hannah Montana, after all.

"Happy birthday, soldier boy," she added. "Have a great one."

Winking at her, he confirmed, "I just did." They kissed again, more lingeringly this time. He slid his hands over her hips and thighs, enjoying the feel of her curves beneath the flimsy material as his tongue circled hers.

Hannah's parting words were "I can't wait to see you again."

The midsummer sun shone brightly, halfway up the sky, as he walked to the barracks. The surroundings had a new clarity to them, like they'd been dusted off and repainted in a rainbow of summer hues. Zack stopped to breathe in the pine-scented air, pondering again whether he would miss Boeblingen now that his days in Germany were drawing to a close. His video phone began to vibrate in his back pocket, and he wondered if Hannah might be calling him already.

"Happy quarter-century, Zack!" His baby brother's grinning face filled the screen. Other faces crowded in the background. "How's your day going so far?"

"Uh, pretty good," Zack answered. "Just out for an old geezer walk." He could tell Cody the real story later. Their mom, London, and Arwin, the lunatic hotel engineer, did not need to know about his birthday party with Hannah Montana.

"Only four more days till I ship outta here, buddy," he said to change the subject. "Back to Beantown."

"I can't wait to see you again," Cody bubbled. He sounded like he'd been into the bubbly himself, which he probably had been. It was just after midnight in Boston, and a party appeared to be going on in the penthouse suite. Zack knew they were waiting until his return for the real birthday bash, so he didn't begrudge their jumping the gun on festivities.

His mom took the phone next, then London.

"Hey, _Fräulein_," he greeted her.

"Frown lines?" The heiress looked horrified, as if he'd deliberately insulted her. "I don't have frown lines! Do I?" She dropped the phone.

Cody reappeared on-screen a moment later. "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly.

_Typical London._ Zack rolled his eyes and resorted to a classic Moseby-ism. "Good luck with that."

"Cake makes me crazy!" Arwin whooped when it was his turn to talk. He held up a mostly empty plate.

"Yeah, tell me about it," said Zack with a knowing smile.

Tommy ran up to Zack before he'd even entered the barracks. "Dude, what happened last night?" he demanded eagerly, dark brown eyes alight. "I need details."

Zack shrugged expansively. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I need to live vicariously through you," Tommy prodded. "I haven't had any fun for six months, as you well know."

"Still don't know what you're talking about, bro," Zack replied, letting his evil grin widen. He and Tommy Delgado had met in Special Forces training. After working, training and living with Tommy for four years, Zack felt as close to Tommy as he did to Cody. Most of the stories Zack had told Hannah also starred Tommy.

Refusing to give up, Tommy tried a different tactic. "Let's go play pool. If I win, you tell."

"If I win, what do I get?" Zack challenged as he followed Tommy to the rec centre.

[***]

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. In the evening, Tommy and a group of his buddies took him into nearby Tübingen to celebrate his birthday. Soldiers were popular in the town, especially with female university students.

It seemed he'd barely fallen into his bunk when a nudge to his shoulder awoke him.

"Hey, FNG, suit up." In the darkness Zack recognized the voice of his new commanding officer. "Delta Force is moving out."

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**A/N: The title of this chapter was inspired by the Miley Cyrus song "See You Again." Please read and review. Much love, Ellie. Xoxoxo**


	5. Too Easy?

**A/N: I am posting chapters one day earlier this week due to American Thanksgiving on Thursday.**

**Disclaimer: The Ultranationalists belong to **_**Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare **_**and**_** Modern Warfare 2**_**. The Joint U.S.–European Forces belong to the CP/BF and me.

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**Chapter 5: Too Easy?

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**TUESDAY, JULY 3, 2018**

After three false starts, Operation Scorpion Strike got underway at 1700.

Zack felt like he was on a rollercoaster. Perched on a bench on the outside of a tiny Defender helicopter, wind rushing past his helmet, cotton fields hurtling by a thousand feet below, he knew exactly—exactly—what Tommy was thinking.

_Dude, this is it. We are on top of the world._

He bumped fists with Tommy who was seated next to him. _Dude, we_ own_ the world_. _We're superstars, warriors, the Dreaded D._

Less than a week after completing the intensive six-month Operator Training Course through the Joint U.S.–European Forces Training Program, he and Tommy were on their first official mission as Delta Force operators. Being selected for the elite U.S. counterterrorist unit in September had been a huge honour, the ultimate affirmation that he'd chosen the right career.

Shutting out the noise around him, Zack mentally replayed the commanding officer's mission briefing. The CO had approved many of his ideas at planning sessions over the weekend at the forward command centre, already 20 miles to the north.

Two helicopters were flying into an industrial northern Middle Eastern city, each carrying a four-man assault team, Alpha and Bravo. At 1800 the Joint U.S.–European Forces would launch a major attack on this strategic outpost of the Ultranationalist terrorists, a revolutionary organization with an extreme dislike for Western powers. A local undercover contact had identified the organization's staging headquarters on a narrow central street. The operators would storm the building, grab prisoners, hustle them into a waiting van, and speed to a nearby a soccer field, where a Chinook helicopter would convey them and their cargo back to the command centre.

Zack allowed one side thought to infiltrate mission mode. _If Cody could see me now_. He knew Cody would be proud of him for doing his part to make the world a better place. Even pacifists like his brother had to realize that achieving or keeping peace meant taking out the bad guys—and no one did that better than Delta.

But Cody would never know about today's mission, nor would anyone else. On paper Zackary Martin was now a computer engineer for a military agency. The only activities he could reveal were unclassified and in the past, like the ones he'd told Hannah. The singer hadn't commented on his longer hairstyle or unmarked fatigues. To those in the know, these were telltale signs that he was part of the Delta unit, including the permanent callus on his firing hand. It was just as well he couldn't tell Cody about his new classified job. He didn't want his little brother to worry too much about him.

A grim blur rose against the horizon. As the two Defenders swooped closer, Zack saw crumbling roofs and a haphazard grid of crooked streets. Another dump, another haven for terrorists.

The helicopters dipped low and the target building came into view. It was a six-storey concrete structure, wedged between shorter decaying buildings. Zack was ready for whatever awaited inside. He trusted each team member with his life. They were all in this together. They were all his brothers. And just in case anything went wrong, they had their blood types taped to the bottoms of their boots.

Two Bravo snipers on the other helicopter took aim at the roof. Two spotters fell, clearing the way for Alpha team.

Instinct and adrenaline took over. The helicopter kissed the roof and Zack jumped down, letting his hockey pads cushion his knees. Every operator wore them over his camouflage pants. Tommy landed next, then Magnus and Jun, two experienced operators. Magnus and Jun hooked ropes to the edge of the roof, and rappelled out of sight.

Zack tested the door on the roof. Unlocked. Dumb terrorists. Tommy stealthily moved ahead to take care of a slight movement below. A dark-haired man lurked in the stairwell, in baggy white clothes, a scarf over his face, AK-47 held to his chest. The man died without a whisper, finished off by a twist of Tommy's combat knife. One down, two levels to go.

Fourth floor. Headquarters. Zack pulled his fiber optic camera from its pouch on his black flak vest and crouched to slide it under the door. All clear. No one was on the other side. He replaced the camera in its pouch, opened the door and crept through, holding his silenced P-90 assault rifle while Tommy covered the rear.

They ran noiselessly down a non-descript corridor. Sudden movement at the end of the hallway. Zack pulled the trigger with deadly precision. A man hit the floor, two extra holes in his heart.

They stopped in front of a blank wall. Tommy pressed a listening device to the wall. Thumbs up. Zack took a square package from the back of his vest, placed four white breach plates on the wall, then pressed a small button on his headset. One beep sounded to confirm to Magnus and Jun that they were ready. Two beeps sounded in reply. We're good to go. Thumbs up to Tommy. They turned around, and Zack activated the remote hand-held detonator.

The wall erupted in a shower of plaster and fire, creating a large hole and enough disturbance to stun any occupants. Tommy and Zack stormed into the room just as Jun and Magnus broke through a window. Seven pairs of eyes blinked in the commotion. Three guards. Four high-value targets, wanted alive if possible, dead if necessary. Four P-90s against three AK-47s. No contest.

"Get on the floor!" Zack yelled at the targets. "Hands behind your head." He kept his P-90 at shoulder level while Tommy, Jun and Magnus flex-cuffed the prisoners' hands tightly behind their backs and covered their faces with black masks.

Time to exit. Jun set four bricks of C-4 plastic explosives by a bank of computers. "Alpha's go," Zack reported into his headset. Their Bravo teammates had roped down to the street and commandeered the getaway van. Seconds later a blast at street-level provided the distraction required for escape.

Each Alpha took hold of a prisoner, raced along the corridor to the stairwell and down four flights of stairs. Doors were kicked open, cargo shoved into the back of a rusted grey vehicle. The driver accelerated, heading for the soccer field.

Magnus looked to Jun. "Do it," he instructed. Jun whipped out the detonator and the top three floors of the target building leveled in their wake.

The whir of the Chinook signified perfect timing as the van rocketed into the soccer field. The eight operators herded the prisoners through the helicopter's open tail ramp, strapped them into seats, and left the rutted city behind.

It was 1745. The entire operation had taken 45 minutes.

[***]

_That was too easy_, Zack thought. Operation Scorpion Strike had been nothing compared to the rigorous airplane hijacking exercise in the Operator Training Course. Simple compared to the Selection Course's grueling 45-mile orienteering test in the Bavarian Alps. A breeze compared to the complex drills in the Shooting House at the training compound. _Should an operation be this easy?_

Standing by the tail ramp, he watched a steady swarm of fighter jets streaming past and tanks rolling out below. As the city receded, the Joint Forces moved in like iron filings snaking toward a magnet. Were he still a Marine, Zack knew he would have been right in the middle of the fray, inside a Humvee or in a Black Hawk helicopter dropping group troops. Now, however, his role was finished. Hopefully he would be in Boston by Thursday, Friday at the latest, relaxing by the pool on the roof of the Tipton. Possibly with Hannah Montana. Despite the strong southerly wind blowing against them, the Chinook pilot was making good time, escorted by a Comanche helicopter.

Zack reprogrammed the keypad on his radio so he could listen to ground communications, something he often did. He liked staying in the loop, even after completing a mission.

After a few minutes of regular mission updates, he heard a calm voice state, "All forces pull back. We've found a possible nuclear device. NEST teams are on site. Until we get the OK from them, all forces are to pull back. Seven-mile radius minimum."

Ha! Another phony nuclear bomb threat. A recent, but often-used terrorist delay tactic. At least they were beyond the seven-mile radius. Both helicopters were already speeding up in response, controlled by expert pilots with finely honed reflexes.

As Zack turned to inform Tommy, a searing flash exploded into his line of vision. Everything went white. Zack grabbed onto the overhead handle. When his sight cleared a little he tried to look for the city, but it had been replaced by a mushroom cloud rising in the distance and the shockwave coming up on them fast. _Oh sh..._

Time was slowing down, but there was no time to react, no time to panic. The Chinook rocked sideways as the shockwave hit, sending it careening into the Comanche escort. Out of the corner of his right eye Zack saw the blades of the Comanche rip into the body of the Chinook, then he felt himself tumbling backward.

"Zack!" screamed Tommy, trying clutch onto Zack's camouflage shirt. The material slipped through Tommy's fingers and they closed around Zack's dog tags. The chain broke apart in his hand. The last thing Zack saw was Tommy's face disappearing in a cloud of smoke and flames as the two helicopters floundered toward the ground.

..._it!

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**A/N: Research sources for this chapter include the books **_**Black Hawk Down: A Story of Modern War**_** by Mark Bowden and **_**Inside Delta Force: The Story of America's Elite Counterterrorist Unit**_** by Eric L. Haney, and watching the CP/BF play **_**Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare**_**. I envisioned this arc as a grown-up version of the SLOD episode "In the Line of Duty" where Zack thrives in a position of authority and takes it to an extreme level. Please read and review. Love to all. Xoxoxo – Ellie**

**P.S. Cody's famous patented mechanical spice rack was mentioned in the SLOD episode "Shipnotized" when Zack defended Cody in front of the angry Harvard Dean of Admissions.**


	6. Accidents Happen

**A/N: I know many of you have been wondering where Bailey has been all these years. This chapter begins to answer that question.

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**Chapter 6: "Accidents Happen"

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**TUESDAY, JULY 3, 2018**

"Time's up," announced Gabrielle, the teaching assistant assigned to invigilate the midterm exam for "Topics in Animal Science."

Feeling satisfied with her efforts, Bailey Green brought her completed exam booklet to the front of the classroom. "I'm so grateful Professor Milton let me reschedule this midterm," she told Gabrielle, who sat at the big desk receiving booklets from the few other students. "It's been a pretty stressful week, even with my husband working less this summer so I can finish my degree."

"I totally understand, Bailey," said Gabrielle with a warm smile. "Accidents happen."

"Tell me about it." Bailey sighed wearily. "I'd like to think it's just a phase, but it's probably not." She and Gabrielle had become good acquaintances over the semester, and Bailey felt comfortable discussing her personal life with her TA.

"I'm sure you did excellently, as usual," Gabrielle said when the two women parted outside Call Hall. Needing to unwind, Bailey headed to Caribou Coffee in the Student Union Plaza. _Less than two months until I get my bachelor's of science in agriculture_, she reflected as she enjoyed the mid-morning sunshine. She would miss the beautiful green campus, but not the commute between Manhattan and Topeka, where she lived, three times a week.

The iced Americano turned delightfully caramel-coloured as she poured in the milk. Bailey never tired of watching milk and coffee blend. _Oh, sweet, sweet elixir of love_. She looked around for a seat in the Plaza courtyard so she could have some time to herself. As much as she was looking forward to the Fourth of July party at her parents' farmhouse in Kettlecorn, she knew tomorrow would be a crazy day.

Bailey picked up a copy of the student newspaper and found a table. No sooner had she had sat down than a razor-sharp pain splintered through her right temple. Her heart began to hammer. _Something is wrong somewhere._ Her thoughts took an innate, fearful turn. _Oh my God, Connor..._

The coffee cup went straight into the nearest garbage can, and she ran across the campus. Harrowing images from a week ago filled her mind—watching Connor fall from the barn roof, the sickening certainty that she couldn't throw out a safety net to catch him, though she'd run as fast as her legs could carry her. Finding him limp and lifeless, bleeding from his dear little nose. Spending two anxiety-ridden days in the hospital waiting for him to recover from a concussion. By the time she reached the daycare centre, she was in a full-on panic.

But no, there he was, pushing a truck through the sandbox with his friend Oliver. The playground was lively with children whose parents were students or staff at Kansas State University.

"Connor!" She rushed to the sandbox and sank to her knees, clasping the blond-haired boy in a tight embrace. Goosebumps rose on her skin, despite the hot day.

The child squirmed. "Mom?" he asked. "What's going on?"

Bailey had no idea how to answer. Her heart was still racing madly and her head throbbed. She'd never experienced such a spontaneous, frightened feeling before. _Maybe I'm just developing migraines like my mom_.

"Mommy?" The fear in Connor's voice forced Bailey to pull herself together.

"Nothing's wrong," she said, steadying her nerves as she looked into that face she loved more than anything in the world. A green patch of bruise marked his forehead. His blue eyes grew rounder and she could see tears building in them. "Everything's OK, Mommy was just worried for a moment." She stood up and took his hand, forgetting all about the daycare centre's checkout procedure. "Come on, honey, let's go home."

Connor struggled to keep up as they walked away. "Mommy, slow down," he complained.

His anxious tone made her feel even guiltier for scaring him. Even though he was far too big to be carried, she scooped him up as though he were still a toddler. The pain in her temple eased as she felt his thin arms fold around her neck. "Daddy will be back soon," she said brightly. "And Uncle Nate is taking you and your cousins to Chuck E. Cheese tonight, remember?"

"OK, Mommy." Connor's head rested on her shoulder as she walked toward the parking lot. By the time she reached her car, she felt calmer but the headache persisted for the rest of the day.

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**A/N: This chapter was inspired by a scene at the end of the **_**L-Word**_** episode "Losing the Light" featuring Bette Porter (portrayed by the amazingly talented Jennifer Beals). **

**So now we have chapters from four characters' POVs. There is one more character whose POV will be included. My goal was to write each chapter from a subjective third-person POV, describing events perceived and information only known by the POV character. Please read and review! Thanks as always. Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	7. It's OK

**A/N: Here we are in New York, one of my favourite cities in the world.

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**Chapter 7: "It's OK"

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**TUESDAY, JULY 3, 2018**

The late-morning sun glinted off a thousand windows across the office towers of lower Manhattan. Cody Martin gazed at the famous panorama from the 50th floor of the TD Bank tower, feeling the weight of the moment. The smell of money surrounded him. It emanated from the leather chairs in the boardroom across the hall, the abstract paintings on the walls, his own Armani suit. How many other young executives had stood in this very spot, before their first major pitch, knowing they were about to make their mark on the financial capital of the world? The only difference was that this wasn't Cody's first pitch. He'd lost track of the number of deals he'd been involved with, in other cities around the globe. London, Paris, Rome, Tokyo, Seoul, Johannesburg.

In spite of this victory, Cody felt suddenly empty, overwhelmed by an almost claustrophobic sense of loneliness. He looked toward the recently completed One World Trade Centre just a few blocks away, formerly the site of Ground Zero. Though he had only been eight at the time of 9/11, he still remembered staying home from school, watching the twin towers burning, then crumbling, as people fell to their deaths on all sides.

_Why can't we all just be nice to each other?_ he thought, immediately embarrassed by his persistent idealism. Cody knew the world didn't work that way.

Today's deal with TD Bank was worth a cool $500 million. A drop in the bucket, Wilfrid would say. Pocket change. If the bank agreed to finance the hotel expansion in Polynesia, a sizable chunk of change would go toward Cody's quarterly bonus. His thoughts returned to an idea he'd been toying with lately—The Tipton Martin Foundation for World Peace.

"Mr. Martin, we need you in here," a voice from the door of the boardroom broke into his thoughts. Cody shook his head, trying to clear his mind and the early twinges of a headache. He finished his glass of water and walked back to the boardroom.

[***]

A CNN newsflash blanketed the elevator's television screen as Cody crammed inside with Wilfrid Tipton, Chair and CEO of Tipton Industries, Sean Silverstone, Chief Investment Officer, and their army of bodyguards. The Tipton legal team stayed behind to hash out the details of the 250-page contract.

The newscaster announced an unconfirmed nuclear explosion in the Middle East and unconfirmed reports of significant civilian and military casualties. U.S. President Mary Sharpe would soon address the nation on the developing situation.

_This is exactly what I mean. _Cody's headache worsened, pounding in his temples, tightening like vice grips across the back of his neck. He wished they could turn off the news._ When is it ever going to stop?_

Sean turned to Cody, as much as he was able to in the cramped space. "Don't you have a brother in the service?" he asked.

Cody nodded. "Yeah, but he's stationed in Germany and he'll be home tomorrow." He was surprised Sean even remembered he had a brother. "Special Forces," he added proudly. Zack's career path had taken him a long time to get used to. Knowing that Zack's unit helped combat terrorism made him feel better, but other than that, he didn't know much about his brother's job. Perhaps it was for the best.

When they exited the TD Bank tower at 2 Wall Street, a fleet of Town Cars awaited at the corner of Broadway. Wilfrid, Sean and their bodyguards headed to a meeting in Midtown, and Cody directed his own driver to LaGuardia. Today he was slumming, as London called it, travelling back to Boston via First Class instead of a Tipton private jet. As Vice President, Innovation, he had been granted a half-day off in addition to the Fourth of July.

[***]

It was 6:30 when he arrived at the Tipton Hotel. London was waiting for him in the living room of the penthouse suite, along with his mother. The well-appointed set of rooms had been his home for almost eight years now.

Right away he noticed that both his mom and London looked extremely distraught. Steeling himself for another bridezilla moment—they had been increasing at an alarming rate as July 14th drew closer—he set his briefcase on the shag carpet and jested, "What is it this time? Did the florists substitute orchids for irises?"

"Honey, I need you to sit down," said Carey Martin quietly, ignoring this lame joke. Her eyes were red. Cody did as he was told and sat on the plump pink sofa. It was the same spot where celebrity guests had once suffered during his fiancée's webshow, _Yay Me! Starring London Tipton_, for which he had been the producer.

London and Carey sat down on either side of him. London, also strangely silent, placed her hands on his shoulders. A flash of light from the crystal chandelier caught the 10-carat princess-cut diamond on her left hand, blinding him for an instant. Two months' salary was the rule of thumb for an engagement ring. It still boggled his mind that the ring had cost more than what most people earned in two decades. But the ring made London very happy and that was what counted.

Carey took a deep breath and her lips trembled. "We got some bad news today," she started.

Cody felt his stomach drop. "What is it?" he asked, mainly to London. "Did something happen to your wedding dress?"

London looked to Carey who shook her head. "Honey, you know that explosion that happened in the Middle East that's been on the news?"

"Yeah."

"It was a response to a military operation."

"Yeah." A numbness set in.

"An officer came here this afternoon and told us Zack was part of that operation, as a member of a classified unit. They can't give us all the information yet, but Zack was near the city when the explosion happened." Carey's voice wavered and Cody could tell she was struggling to stay composed.

"Mom?" It was the only question he could manage.

Carey pushed her hands together. Her knuckles were white. "The helicopter your brother was on crashed into another helicopter after the explosion and there were no survivors." The words tumbled from her lips, ending in a sob.

An oppressive silence invaded the room, shattering when Carey broke down, her hands over her face.

Instinctively Cody reached out to comfort his mother, feeling her shake against him. "Don't cry, Mom," he heard himself say. "Everything will be OK." His voice sounded compressed and distorted, as though he were under water. The headache intensified with each word, but Cody knew he'd feel much, much worse were this news actually true. "Zack is not dead."

"I'd know it if my own twin brother was dead," he continued, grasping at shreds of certainty that punctured the dullness inside his head. "Zack is alive, I can feel that he is."

Carey wept like he hadn't said anything. The room was beginning to spin, faces and furniture swimming in front of him.

"Cody?" The timid voice prompted him to turn his head to look at London. She slipped her arms around him, her hands touching Carey's sides. "I'm sorry?" she whispered. Her apology had the intonation of a question.

"It's OK," he told his fiancée, swallowing over the parched feeling in his throat. His mind started to leave his body, drifting slowly up to the ceiling like an under-inflated helium balloon. Bit by bit it drifted until he could see the three of them huddled together on the sofa, their arms intertwined, heads bent low.

"It's OK," he said again, convinced that he wasn't just deluding himself.

He wasn't. He _wasn't_. Was he?

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**A/N: I have to acknowledge Chapter 2 of the memoir **_**Bitter is the New Black**_** by the incomparable Jen Lancaster for inspiring the first scene in this chapter. One World Trade Centre is scheduled to be completed in 2018, the year of this arc. Cody's question "Why can't we all just be nice to each other?" is from the SLOZAC episode "The Fairest of Them All" which, if you've read **_**Just One of the Guys**_**, you'll know is one of my all-time favourite episodes. U.S. President Mary Sharpe is especially for Undefinedliving. Thank you for reading and reviewing. Much love from Ellie – Xoxoxo**


	8. Not About Me?

**A/N: In this chapter, we meet the fifth character and her POV.

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**Chapter 8: "Not About Me?"

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**SUNDAY, JULY 8, 2018**

"A pie-throwing contest?" Cody thundered. "You can't be serious!"

Flinching in the lime-green armchair, Carey Martin held her ground. "Honey, your brother's will specifically states that his funeral should include a pie-throwing contest. And since the military funeral will be in Arlington, I want to make sure we honour all of Zack's last wishes, here at the hotel. This is still his home."

Cody paced up and down the penthouse living room, his arms crossed over his Prada sweater vest. "Mom, are you _listening_ to yourself?" he asked furiously. "How can you insult Zack by letting this so-called wake turn into a free-for-all?"

"Honey, you know how much Zack loved The Three Stooges. Your father and I have already agreed to this and Chef Paolo is baking the pies right now." Carey bit her lower lip and smoothed the skirt of the black Arturo Vitalli dress London had bought her. Her tone switched from placating to pleading. "Please, Cody, don't make today harder than it already is."

At this, Cody's eyes flashed pure anger. "Nothing you can say or do will persuade me to tolerate this travesty. Nothing."

Carey folded her hands on top of her knees. Softly she said, "I'm sorry, honey, but this is not your decision to make."

"You've already made that clear," Cody snarled. "Because if this _was_ my decision, we wouldn't even be having a wake!" He turned on the heel of his Gucci penny loafer and left the suite. The front door banged, causing every droplet on the crystal chandelier to jangle.

London had watched the argument between her fiancé and Carey from a corner of the pink sofa. She'd never seen him act this way. The ugly scene reminded her of fights between her daddy and Brandi, her favourite ex-stepmother. But this situation was a thousand times worse than a divorce. Brandi had won millions of dollars in the settlement, Daddy had bought himself a new wife a couple of months later, and Brandi had stayed in touch with London all these years.

Carey began to cry again, her chest and shoulders heaving with sobs, and London moved to the other side of the sofa, closer to her future mother-in-law.

"Should I go find him?" she asked, her mouth dry as tissue paper.

"No, just let him go for now." Carey covered her tear-stained face with her hands. "The death of a twin is one of the most traumatic losses a person can experience. Cody needs some time to come to terms with this."

Her words terrified London. This was the first crisis she'd ever encountered that money couldn't fix. "Is he... is he going to be OK?" she hardly dared ask.

"I hope so," Carey sighed. Her shoulders sagged. "But I don't know. I really don't."

London vied to be optimistic. "He keeps saying Zack is alive. Maybe he's right?"

"Honey, denial is the first stage of the grieving process." Carey went on to explain three or four other stages. London glazed over as she tended to do during educational lectures. She barely heard Carey speaking. All she could really think was that Cody had always been there for her, ever since she was 15 years old. Cody was her rock, her everything. Now she felt adrift.

"Oh God, I hate to say this, but I knew this day might eventually come."

Carey's pained voice startled London. "You did?" she queried.

"As soon as Zack decided to go to boot camp instead of community college," Carey sobbed. "When I sent him to military school, I only wanted to teach him a lesson. I never thought the army would become his whole life."

"You didn't?" London felt out of her depth. Nobody ever turned to her for comfort. That was more Maddie's department. _At least Maddie will be here soon_.

"I was just so thrilled he'd finally found an interest, something that seemed like a true calling. How could I stand in his way?"

"There, there." London patted Carey's hand clumsily. It shook under her touch. There had been plenty of family jokes about Zack mooching off Cody forever or working at a crappy beach resort called San Quentin. He'd proven them all wrong.

"I keep telling myself this isn't my fault. But if I hadn't sent Zack away to military school for that stupid _Titanic_ stunt, he would be alive now, wouldn't he?" Carey's voice rose frantically. She crushed a heart-shaped sofa cushion to her chest. "_Wouldn't he?_"

London had no clue what to say to this, so she kept quiet and picked at the strap on her black platform shoe.

Carey sent her a sad half-smile. "Oh honey, I'm sorry, I don't want to burden you with all this. I'm going to go back to my suite and get ready. It's almost 2:00 and guests will be arriving soon."

"OK." London stood to walk Carey out.

At the doorway Carey paused. Inhaling a quivery breath, she said, "I haven't told Cody this yet, but the army search and rescue team found Zack's dog tags at the crash site. They're sending them to us."

"I'll get them gold-plated for you," London promised immediately, heartened by her display of generosity. Her jeweller Maurizio had Boston's most state-of-the-art gold-plating equipment. Maurizio had also designed all of her wedding jewellery.

Carey gave another sigh. Her whole body seemed to deflate. "Um... well, we'll see you down in the ballroom."

Once Carey was gone, London guiltily admitted to herself that she was glad their conversation was over. Again tears stung her eyes as she thought of the wedding cancellation cards a former personal assistant had ordered behind her back ("because you just never know"). London had fired her outright. The carton was hidden in Bodice Bay, the furthest wing of her closet. Few people knew about London's talents with a calligraphy pen. Two hundred of their closest friends soon might, she worried. The other 300 could make do with a pre-printed message.

[***]

At 7:00 in the evening London unlocked the door to the penthouse suite. "Sweetie?" she called out. "Cody?"

There was no answer. London realized she was alone, aside from Ivana II and Jarvis the butler who lived in the adjoining suite. She wished Maddie could have stayed longer, but her best friend was on the Interstate back to Philadelphia.

The fake wake hadn't been as terrible as London had expected. Guests had packed the hotel's huge ballroom, renovated especially for the wedding. So many people remembered her fiancé's loud, fun-loving twin brother. Lots of Zack's friends from middle school, high school, and the army came. Several Tipton business associates attended out of respect for Cody. Even Daddy put in a brief appearance, though she'd only glimpsed him from behind his barricade of bodyguards. Portia Tenenbaum and Chelsea Brimmer also showed up, gushing how sorry they were for her and Cody's loss. Throughout the event London had devoted herself to being the perfect hostess. That was a task she could always handle. Her throat had grown hoarse from thanking guests for their condolences and trying to explain Cody's very noticeable absence. She'd been calling his BlackBerry all afternoon, but he hadn't answered.

When Carey and Kurt had announced the pie-throwing contest, Warren, one of Zack's oldest friends, stepped up to be a target. Arwin joined in, and Moseby also took a round. With lemon meringue pies whizzing and smashing in every direction, laughter had quickly replaced the tears. _I guess Zack didn't want us to be too sad at his funeral_, London reflected. Nobody actually won the contest, but then again nobody kept score. Her black Donna Cabonna dress was completely ruined. Luckily she only wore an outfit once, so it was no big deal.

Now, still standing in the doorway, London pressed the first speed-dial number on her video phone. "Sweetie, pick up," she begged after the customary four rings had brought her to Cody's voicemail yet again. She needed to hear her fiancé's voice. She needed to know that he was OK. "The fake wake is over. You can come home now."

After 15 more calls, each one more desperate than the last, Cody's voicemail box was full. After the next call, the BlackBerry didn't even ring. With a sick fear churning her stomach, London pressed her second speed-dial number.

"Cody's gone," she wailed as soon as Maddie answered.

* * *

By Tuesday night the situation hadn't changed. For the second time in less than a week, Maddie made the long drive up to Boston. She found her best friend in a soggy heap on her bed, cuddling Ivana II.

London felt small and fragile in her arms, like one of her own daughters. Maddie had never seen London in such despair, not even when her father had gone broke for the first time and London moved into the Fitzpatricks' tiny apartment for a few days.

"What if Cody doesn't come back in time for the wedding? There's only four days left," London wept, ink and mascara smudging on her cheeks. "The press will go crazy."

"London, he'll be back," Maddie tried to reassure her, despite the chill in her core. It wasn't like Cody to disappear. He'd never been anything but trustworthy and reliable, exactly what her best friend needed in a life partner.

"But what if he's not?" London whimpered. "I can just see all the headlines—'London Tipton Jilted at the Altar.' "

"It won't be so bad," Maddie consoled. But she knew it would be. Being famous had many drawbacks, and tabloids were one of them. Over the years she'd tried to persuade London to keep a lower profile, but the heiress had always pounced on any scrap of attention, media or otherwise.

"I'll never live it down." London dissolved into another torrent of tears, rocking back and forth in Maddie's arms. "I'll have to leave Boston."

"Shhhh," Maddie soothed. "No you won't. People will understand." They probably wouldn't, though. _Everybody loves to see a celebrity fall on her face._

London sobbed on and on over her endangered wedding, her missing fiancé, her jeopardized future. Maddie just held London and stroked her hair, striving to think of comforting things to say. They all sounded like platitudes, trite and pathetic, but what else could she say under the circumstances? She had barely begun to process her own grief over Zack. Everyone else's needs seemed much more important than hers.

"How could Cody do this to me, Maddie?" London asked, her voice unmistakably bitter.

Maddie felt something inside her snap. "London, listen to me," she said, forcing her friend to sit upright. "This is _not_ about you. Cody loves you very much and he'll back and you'll get married, I promise. But his twin brother was just killed, and he obviously needs some time to deal with this. Can you understand that?"

London gawked through her swollen eyelids. "Not about me?" she repeated, sounding out the words like a child learning to read.

_I know this is a brand-new concept for a pampered heiress, but I have to try. _"That's right, London." Maddie nodded encouragingly. "This is not about you."

Then a breakthrough seemed to occur. London buried her face in Maddie's damp shoulder and snuffled, "OK, Maddie. It's not about me."

Maddie hugged her best friend again. _I really hope I'm saying the right thing_, she thought.

* * *

**A/N: Poor London :( Will she learn to think of others first? The pie-throwing contest pays homage to the late actor John Ritter (**_**Three's Company**_**, **_**Eight Simple Rules**_**), who apparently requested in his will that the USC Marching Band play at his funeral to cheer up the attendees. We will see more of Maddie's POV in upcoming chapters, and a sixth character's POV will also appear, but much later on. Thanks for sticking with this story, you guys. Your support, encouragement, and reviews are always valued. Much love from Ellie – Xoxoxo**


	9. Just Thought You Should Know

**A/N: We're back in Topeka, Kansas for this chapter.

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**Chapter 9: "Just Thought You Should Know"

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**THURSDAY, JULY 26, 2018**

_Woodison Finkwright... is that who I think it is?_ Bailey mulled as she skimmed the spam messages that had accumulated since her last log-in. She rarely checked the Hotmail account she'd had since high school. This morning, however, she needed a break from poring over the latest draft of her Poultry Health research paper while Connor played at Oliver's house.

_I wonder what Woody and Addison have been up to... ha ha_. Although she would never have admitted it to any of her friends, Bailey was somewhat familiar with the couple's body of work.

Sitting at her kitchen table, she clicked open the email with the single-word subject line—_News_. As she read the email, the lines of text swerved violently on the screen and her hands flew to her mouth. The unexplainable ominous feeling she'd had a few weeks ago made sudden sense.

_No..._

Minute after minute ticked by as she sat paralyzed. Eventually the need for contact became overpowering and Bailey picked up her video phone from the table. "J-B, you have to come over," she whispered urgently, and the phone fell from her fingers.

She didn't how many more minutes had passed when she heard the front door open and a voice ring out, full of alarm, "Bailey, what's wrong?" Footsteps clattered and Jamie-Beth Collins appeared in the kitchen, pink-cheeked and out of breath. "I broke every speed limit between Kettlecorn and Topeka getting here... what's happened?"

Bailey looked up at her lifelong best friend and pointed helplessly at the laptop.

Jamie-Beth leaned over her shoulder to read the email that contained those impossible words: "_Just thought you should know_." "Oh my God," she gasped, colour draining from her face. "Bales, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

As soon as Jamie-Beth wrapped her into a hug, Bailey felt herself collapsing like an injured animal. "I can't believe it, I just can't believe it." Sobs tore at her throat, ragged like the blade of a saw. Hysteria welled through her, turning her body inside out. "I never thought... I feel so bad for his family... I should have told him about... oh God, what if I had... maybe Zack would be alive now... if he had known... if only..." Her words jumbled together incoherently.

"Bailey, _no_." Jamie-Beth spoke forcefully, holding her more tightly. "You can't blame yourself, you couldn't have known back then. Do _not_ go there."

It was too late not to. Bailey knew Jamie-Beth, too, was remembering another day, another upheaval.

* * *

**MONDAY, AUGUST 15, 2011**

All three pink lines taunted her. The first stirrings of fear had turned into days, then a week, of anxiety, culminating in this untimely discovery, in the bathroom of her parents' farmhouse in Kettlecorn, which she planned to leave in just two weeks to begin her first semester at Yale. The opportunity of a lifetime. _Her_ lifetime.

"I am such an idiot," 18-year-old Bailey wailed, hitting the bathroom mirror with her fist. An unrecognizable girl stared back at her. "How is it that I can earn a scholarship to Yale, but I can't remember that antibiotics counteract the Pill?"

Sitting on the closed toilet, Jamie-Beth looked up at her, eyes wide and sympathetic. She waited a few moments before answering, "I don't know, Bales. Accidents happen..."

"What am I going to do now?" Bailey really didn't know what to do with herself. She wanted to scream, break something, throw a tantrum. Her stomach made the decision for her and instead she retched into the sink. "Why do they call it morning sickness when it happens in the middle of the day?" she moaned.

Jamie-Beth stood to hold back her hair. "You are going to tell Zack you're pregnant, aren't you?" she said once Bailey had stopped heaving.

Bailey rinsed her mouth and spat. The sour tang of bile clung to her tastebuds. "What's the point?" she asked dully. Her eyes throbbed and her stomach roiled again, the next eruption brewing. "I doubt he wants to hear from me now. And anyway, Zack is nowhere near ready to be a father."

"But he has a right to know." Jamie-Beth pulled a towel from the rack, her words hesitant. "Just because you broke up with him doesn't change that."

"Yes, it does." Bailey voice's reflected her conviction. "This is _my_ problem, _my_ fault."

Jamie-Beth turned on the faucet and dampened the towel. "You still love him, Bales. I know you do."

"Yeah, I guess." A piece of Bailey's heart would always belong to Zack Martin. Tears flowed again as Jamie-Beth sponged her forehead. "But our lives are so different and we've grown apart so much. He's probably already gone to California for boot camp." While breaking up with her long-term boyfriend had been the hardest thing Bailey had ever done, letting him go still felt like the right choice. High school was over. She was ready to start the next phase of her life.

"Well, I think not telling him would be a mistake," Jamie-Beth said quietly, laying the towel next to the three empty boxes on the counter.

A hot spike of anger caught Bailey off-guard. "J-B, I only just found out I'm pregnant, like two minutes ago," she lashed at her best friend. "I don't have to decide _anything_ yet. There's plenty of time."

* * *

Bailey's phone buzzed on the kitchen floor of her house in Topeka, disrupting the shared memory.

The face on the screen caused Bailey to recoil. "Oh God, I can't talk to him right now," she said with a shudder, dropping her forehead into her hands.

Jamie-Beth took the phone. "Hi, Moose," she said, her voice betraying nothing. "No, Bailey just stepped out to go to the store... yeah, OK... I'll let her know... see you soon."

"Let me know what?" Bailey asked after Jamie-Beth had hung up.

"To call the baby-sitter for next Saturday night. He got the Cirque de Soleil tickets for your three-year anniversary."

Real life was closing in on her. Bailey tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. A sandpapery feeling lined her eyelids and her limbs ached as though she had the flu. She fell into the chair, letting her head thump onto the tabletop.

Jamie-Beth sat quietly, rubbing her back and shoulders in soft soothing motions—but she stopped talking because there was nothing else to say.

* * *

**A/N: The 80s classic "No One is to Blame" by Howard Jones partly influenced this story. When a tragedy occurs, no single person is ever to blame. Xoxoxo – Ellie (relentless 80s music fan)**

_**You can build a mansion but you just can't live in it  
You're the fastest runner but you're not allowed to win  
Some break the rules  
And live to count the cost  
The insecurity is the thing that won't get lost  
And you want her and she wants you  
We want everyone  
And you want her and she wants you  
No one, no one, no one ever is to blame**_


	10. Today is Your Birthday, Not Halloween

**A/N: Sunday morning, Take 2...

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**Chapter 10: "Today is Your Birthday, Not Halloween"

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**SUNDAY, JUNE 30, 2019 **

The city bus pulled up across from 138 St. James Avenue, in the heart of downtown Boston. Zack Martin stepped off the bus and stared up at the 25-storey Victorian Renaissance hotel. Sunshine bounced off its windows and turrets, lighting up the whole building.

So much of his early life had taken place at this hotel. The steps alone brought back a slew of memories—arguing with Cody over who got to ride their new bike, hiding his backpack in the tree pot before heading off to skip school at Malden Mall, risking his life climbing onto the green awning to rescue a fake mummy.

It had taken him a month to prepare for this day. Squaring his shoulders, Zack waited for a break in the Sunday morning traffic and crossed the street.

"Hey, Norman," he said automatically. The untalkative doorman had been a fixture at the revolving doors ever since Zack moved to the hotel at age 12.

The normally expressionless Norman gave him a strange look. "Hello, Mr. Martin," he responded in his usual quiet voice.

_Maybe I should have gone with Plan B and showed up with a camel, a two-foot beard, an AK-47 strapped to my chest and sand falling out of my boots_, Zack mused, pushing through the doors as he'd done thousands of times before.

The lobby looked the same as it always had—swanky guests milling around and lounging on sofas. Irene the concierge sat at her desk next to the rotunda. Skippy the inept night manager, now balding, was still asleep at the check-in counter, chin propped in his hand. "Welcome to the Tipton," he muttered.

"Mr. Cody?" Zack turned to see Esteban Ramirez approaching him. The hotel manager wore a distinctly worried expression. "I think you're mixing up your celebrations." Enunciating very slowly, he continued with, "Today is your _birthday_, not _Halloween_. But your costume is very nice."

Zack decided this might not bode well. "Esteban, it's me," he said, taking off his camouflage cap. "Zack."

The manager's eyes bulged. His jaw hit the floor and he seized Zack in a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, big blond sir," he sang out joyfully. "It really is you! We thought you were dead."

"I got better." Zack didn't know what to say next.

"I can't believe it's really you!" Esteban gripped his shoulders, eyes shining. "Oh, this is wonderful, just _wonderful_. Does Mr. Cody know you're back?"

"No, it's a bit of a surprise," Zack answered truthfully.

"Mr. Cody will be so happy to see you." Esteban kept his arm around Zack as he led him over to a quiet spot outside his office.

"Speaking of my brother, how is he?" Zack asked anxiously. Cody had always been the sensitive one, and he hated to think how difficult the past year must have been for his little brother.

"Well, things have been getting better for him," Esteban replied hastily, glancing toward the revolving doors. "But they will be great now that you're back. I think he should be arriving any minute now."

_Is he avoiding the question?_ Before Zack could probe for more information, Esteban consulted his watch. "And your parents will also be here soon," he said enthusiastically. "We're sending a limo to the airport to pick them up."

"My parents? A limo?" Zack felt like he'd stepped into an alternate universe. _A lot can happen in a year, but...?_

"Your parents are back together," Esteban announced, clapping his hands like a happy child. "They are performing again. Right now they're on a tour in France, but they're coming back for the big birthday party Miss London is throwing tonight."

_Tour? France? Birthday party?_ It was almost too much to take in.

The front pocket of Esteban's pin-striped navy jacket beeped. "Please excuse me for a moment, big blond sir," he apologized and hurried to Irene's desk.

Feeling his palms sweat, Zack shoved his hands into the pockets of his desert camouflage fatigues, clean and pressed for the occasion. At least his hands weren't shaking anymore. Esteban had said his brother would be here any minute. _How long is that going to be, exactly?_ He scanned the lobby again.

Then the revolving doors revolved and Esteban rushed up to greet the latest arrival. Zack's heart pounded and everything in the room condensed to a single focal point.

"Oh, Mr. Cody," Esteban exclaimed breathlessly. "You're finally here!"

Zack watched Cody follow Esteban's gaze across the lobby. "Hey, bro, happy birthday," he said with a deliberately casual wave.

An incredulous look materialized on Cody's face. Time stood absolutely still for a moment, then transitioned into slow motion as he bounded toward Zack, tossing aside his briefcase and leaping through a luggage cart pushed by a stunned bellhop. Zack grabbed his brother in a bear hug and lifted him off his feet. He'd never stopped expecting this reunion, not even for a second.

Cody pulled himself away, his eyes round with shock. "Is it really you?" he asked in a bewildered voice, "or is this what a stroke feels like?"

"No, buddy, it's really me." Zack rubbed his knuckles affectionately over Cody's neatly cut hair. He couldn't remember feeling happier in their whole 26 years.

Tears spilled down Cody's cheeks and he flung his arms around Zack. "I _knew_ you weren't dead," he cried. "My twin telepathy was right all along."

The words made Zack's stomach twist. Keeping the tightest rein on his emotions had paid off in so many ways, but now his cool was about to disintegrate. "Hey, your big brother is always there for you," he said around the lump constricting his throat. "I'd never throw you to the wolves." Again he embraced his best friend, his one flesh and blood brother, blinking away a few stray tears.

By then uniformed men in dark sunglasses had surrounded them, maintaining a not-very-respectful distance.

"Who are these clowns?" he asked, wondering if violence would be imminent.

"Just my bodyguards." Cody let go and took out a pocket hanky to wipe his own eyes. "Wilfrid insists, now that I'm a senior vice president."

"It's OK, guys," he addressed the group. "This is my twin brother, Zack. We haven't seen each for a while." One of the thugs placed the briefcase in his waiting hand. "As you can see, he's a soldier, so you can go now. I'll check in with you later."

Moving as a unit, the bodyguards filed toward the elevators. Their obedience and Cody's authoritative manner astonished Zack. "Wow, Codester," he marveled, using the childhood nickname. "You've really become a big deal."

Cody's smile widened. His cheeks seemed thinner than Zack remembered—it had been a full two years since he'd last seen Cody—and there were dark shadows under his eyes, but looking at his twin still felt like looking in a mirror. He Cody's thoughts were tapping into his, he could feel them, the interrogation looming.

"So what happened to you?" Cody demanded right on cue. "The army told us you were dead. I knew you weren't, but we got the flag, the Purple Heart and everything."

Zack cleared his throat, not sure how to start. "Well..."

Cody cut him off before he could give an explanation. "Wait, let me get London!"

Cody took a gold BlackBerry from his briefcase and punched a key. The spot where he would have worn a wedding ring was bare with no tan line. "Millicent, tell London to come down to the lobby... no, just tell her... Millicent, shut up, I don't care what she's doing, tell her to come down to the lobby!" Cody began shouting into the BlackBerry. "JUST TELL HER TO COME DOWN TO THE LOBBY!"

The name "Millicent" rang the faintest of bells, but Zack couldn't place it. _OK, the hard part is over,_ he thought._ A lot seems to have changed around here, but Cody will always be Cody_.

London dashed out of the elevator a minute later, fancily dressed in a purple pantsuit.

"London, look who's here!" Cody jumped onto Zack, looping his arms around Zack's shoulders.

The heiress stopped in her high-heeled tracks, shock spreading over her face. Her perfectly made-up lips slowly formed a perfect O. "Zack?" she gasped. "Is it really you?" She reached out to hug them both. The boulder-sized diamond on her left hand looked even bigger than it had online. It made him dizzy for a moment.

"Did you say 'Zack'?" cried a voice from London's other hand. "Hold me up, I can't see a thing from down here!"

Zack leaned in to peer at the elated image on London's pink diamond-studded BlackBerry. "Hey, Maddie, how are you?" he asked, smiling at her.

Maddie waved madly. "Zack!" Her scream made the speaker crackle.

And then the onslaught began.

"What happened?"

"Where were you?"

"We heard you died."

"How did you get here?"

"Where have you been all this time?"

"Are you a zombie?"

Zack rolled his eyes at London. "A zombie? Really?"

London shrugged as though her question were valid.

_Another person who hasn't changed_. It was time to put an end to the questions. Raising his hands, Zack took several steps back and said, "Woah, woah. That's enough, guys. The short version is, I took a leave from the military and went lawn bowling with a bunch of yak herders. To London, he added jokingly, "Or maybe I am a zombie and I'm here to eat brains. But don't worry, you're safe."

"Oh, OK." London's air of relief became a frown. "Hey, wait a minute..."

Esteban reappeared, smiling and hovering at the fringes of their group. Without giving anyone a chance to ask about the long version, Zack turned to the manager.

"So, can you hook me up with a suite or what?" he asked with his best snarky smile.

* * *

**A/N: So now we're back at the beginning again. No wonder Norman the Doorman gave Cody such a strange look when he arrived at the Tipton in Chapter 1 :) Seriously, you guys saw this coming, right? Please and review. Love to all – Ellie, Xoxoxo**


	11. Don't Stop Believin'

**A/N: As a big fan of **_**Glee**_**, I had to find a place for the amazing song "Don't Stop Believin.' " **

**In Chapter 2, Maddie was quite sure she couldn't go to the big 26th birthday party London was (unwisely?) throwing for Cody that night. Will she change her tune now?

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**Chapter 11: "Don't Stop Believin' "

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_Don't stop believin'  
Hold on to that feelin'  
Streetlight people_

_Journey, "Don't Stop Believin' "_

[-]

**SUNDAY, JUNE 30, 2019 **

Maddie Fitzpatrick-Bristow tore up the steps of the Tipton, letting the valet deal with her SUV. The sounds of three-year-old Kaley and five-year-old Kassidy sobbing on their Uncle Liam's sofa had tugged painfully at her heartstrings, but she knew the girls would get over this. She would pick them up tomorrow, bringing them each a treat.

"Hey, Norman," she said automatically. The untalkative doorman had been a fixture at the revolving doors ever since she began working at the candy counter at age 15.

The normally expressionless Norman gave her a smile. "Hello, Mrs. Bristow," he responded in his usual quiet voice.

As soon as she stepped into the lobby, Tasha and Elijah Moseby barreled past, almost flattening her against the wall. The eight-year-olds had glitter in their hair, balloons in their hands, and Mr. Moseby and his wife Emma in hot pursuit. "You two get back here!" her former boss howled, before pausing to kiss Maddie on the cheek. "Hello, Maddie," he said politely. Then he was off again, swallowed by the crowds.

_There's karma for you_, Maddie thought. _But if anyone deserves twins, it's Mr. Moseby_.

Faces merged into each other as she navigated to the ballroom, holding up the hem of her strapless sky-blue satin Arturo Vitalli gown, a Christmas present from London. A huge banner hung across the ballroom entrance: "Happy Birthday Cody." Pasted in the right-hand corner was a smaller sign with the words "And Zack." Incredulity washed over her and she entered the ballroom, feeling her excitement build.

London's event designing vision awed her as usual. A rainbow of streamers draped from the ballroom's massive crystal chandelier to its wood-panelled walls, decorated with hibiscus wreaths. Servers carried trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne flutes among the throngs. Maddie recognized a few guests from Foundation fundraising events and London's society parties, including the Moroccan ambassador whose life she'd once saved with the Heimlich maneuver. Amazing that he hadn't retired yet.

Carey and Kurt Martin were harmonizing onstage to the Goo Goo Dolls classic "Give A Little Bit." Maddie's heart skipped. Of the few silver linings Zack's disappearance had brought, Carey and Kurt's reconciliation had to be the biggest one.

_Give a little bit  
Give a little bit of your love to me  
Give a little bit  
I'll give a little bit of my love to you  
See the man with the lonely eyes  
Take his hand, you'll be surprised_

_So I'll give a little bit  
I'll give a little bit of my life for you  
So give a little bit  
Give a little bit of your time to me  
Now's the time that we need to share  
So send a smile, we're on our way back home_

Cody joined his parents for the final chorus. At first Maddie didn't recognize him with his tie around his head for a change. "So send a smiiiile," he chimed in, off-key, earning a few cheers. "We're on our waaaaay back home."

_Or back to the champagne fountain_, Maddie observed, _which would probably be a good idea_. The hostess herself stood by the triple-tier champagne fountain, in a gauzy pink gown, a red hibiscus pinned behind her right ear. She was chatting to a stocky man with bushy brown hair. Maddie didn't know what to make of Kyle Lawford. He'd been a keen supporter of the Tipton Martin Foundation for World Peace since Day 1, and had a stranglehold on commercial real estate development throughout New England. Maddie hoped Kyle wasn't developing a stranglehold on her best friend, too. However, the engagement ring shimmered on London's left hand.

Maddie ducked around bodies, her eyes peeled. As she reached the wall closest to the kitchen, the doors opened and a server wheeled out a cart with a huge chocolate cake. A piece was conspicuously missing from the corner.

_Aha!_ Maddie hurried through the double doors, fluffing her freshly curled hair. At the second set of double doors, she found what she was looking for.

Zack stood alone in the back room, leaning against a counter, rolling a fork contemplatively through a plate of chocolate cake. He was wearing a light-blue dress shirt, black suit pants and combat boots. When he saw her through the window, a familiar devil-may-care grin lit up his face.

"Hey, sweet thang," he drawled.

"Zack!" Maddie threw herself into her old friend's arms. "I can't believe it's really you. Happy birthday!" Tears diluted her mascara.

She felt the lean muscles in his back and shoulders tense as he hoisted her up onto the counter. They were both laughing.

"Wow, Maddie, aren't you all dressed up." The flirtatious smile broadened. "Is that just for me?" he added slyly.

The compliment made her blush. He'd paid her endless compliments over the years, yet few had made her blush so quickly. "What are you doing in here?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too coy.

Straightening his sleeves, he replied, "Just taking a break from the crowd."

Maddie could understand this. "London's parties can be overwhelming," she sympathized. A mass of other questions itched on her tongue, but she knew she had to pace herself.

Zack shrugged and unearthed a bottle of Moët & Chandon champagne from a crate on the floor. "Feel like celebrating in here?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Sure." She took two fluted glasses from the counter.

Small talk flowed easily, as it always had between them. Zack asked about her establishment puppet and Maddie updated him on Trevor's job as press secretary for Pennsylvania's Senator Edward Babatundé and the girls' various achievements. She noticed Zack said very little about himself and finally, emboldened by a second glass of champagne, she tried again. "Where have you been for the past year?"

He responded with the same answer as this morning. "I was lawn bowling with yak herders."

"No, really?" she prompted, assuming this couldn't be the truth.

He gave a small chuckle. "Yeah, I really was."

"OK," she relented. Her skepticism remained, but she decided not to push it.

Strains of the introduction to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin' " pulsed through the kitchen wall. The song reminded Maddie of high school dances and the long-running TV show _Glee_.

"You know..." She twirled the stem of her glass. "Cody never did stop believing you were alive."

"That's my baby brother, always a believer." The fondness in his voice touched her heart. Zack and Cody. Cody and Zack. She couldn't picture one without the other.

"How's he been, Maddie?" Zack asked then, his elbow next to her on the counter.

Maddie swished a mouthful of champagne. "Well... " Cody had been diagnosed with clinical depression last August after a lengthy business trip. "Obviously, he's been pretty upset." Without knowing what Cody might already have told Zack today, it was hard to decide which other details to share.

"I know he and London didn't get married in July." Zack sipped his own champagne. As she recalled, he'd never been a big drinker. "I kind of figured that."

"Yeah." Maddie felt out of place discussing the wedding that wasn't. Cody's absence had overlapped both the wedding date and the military funeral in Arlington, Virginia. London had stayed with her for much of that time to avoid rabid tabloid reporters. Maddie knew there had to be other sides to this mysterious business trip, but Cody had never explained any. London had eventually given up asking, relieved simply that her fiancé had come home.

Verses resonated from the ballroom:

_A singer in a smoky room  
A smell of wine and cheap perfume  
For a smile they can share the night  
It goes on and on and on and on_

_Strangers waiting  
Up and down the boulevard  
Their shadows searching in the night  
Streetlight people  
Living just to find emotion  
Hiding somewhere in the night_

"But what about now?"

"Well, actually, they've become one of Boston's power couples, between the Foundation and TMI." A safe answer. Rather than take the anti-depressants prescribed by Wilfrid's personal physician, Cody had immersed himself in launching the Tipton Martin Foundation for World Peace and London had followed suit. As far as Maddie could tell, the Foundation had become a drug for both of them, giving Cody a constructive outlet for his grief and transforming London into a hyper-competitive fundraiser. _Another silver lining..._

"You must be so thrilled that your parents are back together," she said, pouring more champagne into her glass

"Yeah, that was a surprise." Zack flipped his empty glass upside down. "I've heard of people hooking up at funerals, but I never imagined my parents would."

Maddie didn't want to think about the funeral. "Well, grief does strange things to people," she said and finished her glass with a quick gulp.

The three-inch scar carved through Zack's right eyebrow, ending on the tip of his cheek, was suddenly impossible to overlook under the fluorescent lights.

Music swelled in the background. Slowly she lifted her left index finger and traced the length of the scar wonderingly. He watched her finger. Not a single muscle moved in his face. She had to ask. "What happened here?"

The right side of Zack's mouth quirked upward. "Yak herders take their lawn bowling very seriously," he replied mildly.

_Don't stop believin'  
Hold on to that feelin'  
Streetlight people_

A surge of light-headedness made the room sway. Maddie tilted forward, steadying herself against his forehead. When she moved slightly, their lips touched, tentatively, like a first kiss.

_Don't stop believin'  
Hold on  
Streetlight people_

The kiss ignited a fiery sensation in Maddie. Reckless from champagne and nostalgia, she slid her tongue into his mouth and brought her palms up to his cheeks, her fingers threading into his shaggy blond hair. Zack's hands moved to the back of her head, drawing her in until she knew that no second or third thoughts could prevent what might happen next.

_Don't stop believin'  
Hold on to that feelin'  
Streetlight people_

She let herself unbutton his shirt. "Oh my God," she gasped as the material fell away. His chest, trim but still defined, was a patchwork of nicks and scars. She also saw the Marines insignia and motto tattooed below his right shoulder, _Semper Fi_.

"Um..." His hesitation was palpable.

Determined not to ruin the mood, she quipped gently, "Let me guess, yak herders?"

Zack's smile returned. His fingers entwined with hers. Maddie kissed him again and wrapped her legs around his waist, expecting him to join her on the counter, to lay her down gently. Instead he reached for the mother-of-pearl clasp at the front of her dress.

"Damn this dress," he complained when the clasp stayed shut.

"Here, let me help you with that," she giggled, her face flushing. As she put her hands over his, she noticed the black metal band on his left wrist. Then she felt his fingers halt and her insides contracted. _Oh no, here it comes..._

"Maddie, we can't do this." Zack said in a resigned tone. He held up her left hand adorned with her wedding ring. "You know we can't."

Maddie's hand went limp. Her eyes dropped to the floor. There was no point disagreeing.

"But just for the record," he added roguishly, "I have learned some new moves since our first time."

Out popped, "New moves?"

Zack planted a soft kiss on her hairline. There would be no sequel to that sweet fumbling encounter on his narrow bed in Suite 2330, so many years ago now. But Maddie wanted to hold onto that feeling a little bit longer. She stayed seated, their foreheads pressing together lightly, until Zack put his shirt back on and retrieved the half-eaten plate of cake.

"Want some?" he asked, offering her a forkful.

The cake melted in her mouth, and she slipped down from the counter. She felt like a grown-up once more. "Come on," she said, "let's get back to the party."

* * *

**A/N: In retrospect, maybe Bailey wasn't overreacting to those emails between Zack and Maddie in Chapter 7 of **_**Just One of the Guys**_**. At least Arturo Vitalli dresses are always hard to take off, as seen in the epilogue to JOotG. The Marines motto Semper Fi means "Always Faithful" (a timely reminder to Maddie, perhaps?). Thanks for reading and reviewing. You guys are awesome. Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	12. Was It All a Dream?

**A/N: Bonus points if you can spot the **_**Clerks 2**_** reference (don't worry, there's no donkey :)

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**Chapter 12: "Was It All a Dream?"

* * *

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**MONDAY, JULY 1, 2019**

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Cody opened one eye, then the other. Wondering what time zone he was in, he held up his left wrist and tried to read the multi-faced Rolex. The tiny circles swam together and his spine creaked. _Owww, _he moaned inwardly._ I need to see my chiropractor_.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Dimly he recognized the ceiling of the Tipton kitchen. As he reached into the pocket of his pants to stop the buzzing, his elbow brushed against something. It rolled away. The resulting crash reverberated painfully in his skull. _Chef Paolo is going to freak_.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Cody extracted the annoying device and slammed it against the floor, bracing for another spasm of agony. The buzzing didn't stop. _Damn gamma ray deflector._ He tried the pocket again, locating the BlackBerry this time. Blissful quietness filled the darkened room. He lay still for a few moments, enjoying the silence, then a terrifying thought gripped every muscle in his body.

_Was it all a dream_? Slowly, very slowly, Cody shifted his head to the right, each vertebra in his neck protesting. _Oh, thank God..._

The mirror image confirmed that yesterday had not in fact been a dream. Zack slumbered next to him, drool trailing from a corner of his mouth into a puddle of cake frosting. Just to be sure, Cody stretched out a hand and touched Zack's cheek. Relief gave him a powerful urge to cry, but the impending hangover had dried up his tear ducts. Instead he made an executive decision. _I am calling in sick today. And possibly every day for the rest of my life._ Everything he needed was right here.

How Zack had returned was as much of a mystery as why they were both lying on the kitchen floor at this unknown hour. The birthday party Cody had dreaded so intensely, and repeatedly told London he didn't want, had been a happy whirlwind of congratulations on his 26th birthday, his promotion to Senior Vice President, Innovation, the Foundation's approaching one-year anniversary, his reunited family. The rest was a blur. All that mattered was that he wasn't alone anymore.

Cody's fastidiousness awakened itself and he couldn't help wiping a smear of cake from Zack's forehead with his silk pocket hanky. His fingers stopped at the scar on his brother's right eyebrow.

_Zack, what happened to you?_ he wondered. _Where have you been?_

As if in response, Zack stirred and mumbled something. Cody was too tired to over-exert his eardrums, but he thought he heard his brother say, "Hannah, that tickles." _Another mystery_... Cody's eyelids began to close and darkness re-descended.

* * *

The first streaks of dawn roused Maddie from a dreamless sleep. Immediately she identified the curtains in the window and the silk Thai quilt on the king-sized bed. She had spent so many nights in this guestroom that London called it "Maddie's room." The only difference between today and countless other mornings was that she couldn't remember how she'd ended up here. Had she crawled into the room or been carried? And if so, who had carried her?

Her heart began to thud as she remembered events from the birthday bash London had insisted on throwing for Cody. They involved a kitchen, cake, champagne—and someone she hadn't seen for more than two years. A quick glance under the covers revealed that she was still wearing her blue Arturo Vitalli dress. Everything underneath the dress seemed to be in tact as well. And her wedding ring was still in its normal spot. _Whew_, she breathed, relief compounding the dizziness. _But now for the final test_...

Cautiously, she extended a leg and nudged around. When it touched nothing but mattress and 600 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, she finally dared roll over. The bed was empty. _Oh, thank goodness_... _I didn't cheat on my husband. I could have, but I didn't. I am not a terrible person._ If she hadn't been in the throes of an apocalyptic hangover, these thoughts might have lulled her back to sleep.

But it was too late for that. Maddie let the need for caffeine propel her to her feet. As she crept down first one hallway, and then another, the walls and doors blended together. _How can I be lost when I've been coming here for 14 years?_ she admonished herself. _If worst comes to worst, I'm sure I'll eventually run into Millicent._

At the far end of the hallway, a door stood ajar and she approached, hoping to find the kitchen. Maddie opened the door and the sight before her took her breath away. A glass canister sat in a corner of the large room. Inside hung London's lavish, exquisitely designed bridal gown. Even in the darkness, she could make out a series of climate controls and dials on the canister, along with the words "In Case of Wedding, Break Glass" printed in huge red letters. Her heart caught in her throat. _Oh, London_, she thought, _I hope all your dreams will come true now_.

Maddie closed the door and tried a new direction. This time she reached the central wing of the penthouse suite and found herself at London and Cody's bedroom door, also ajar. The heiress slept hunched in a corner of the vast bed. From the smoothness of the covers, Maddie knew that her best friend had also spent the night alone. _So much for the after-party._

Sitting on the bed, she kissed London's cheek then lay down next to her on top of the covers. "Everything is going to be OK now," she whispered, adjusting the hibiscus still pinned behind London's right ear. "I just know it." The craving for caffeine faded and sleep overtook her.

* * *

"_Zack!"_

Zack awoke with a start, the same scream echoing in his ears. At first he thought he was in another dark confined space with mold on the walls. _Oh, shit..._ After the usual rush of panic, contours began to emerge from the shadows and refrigerators, counters and doors took shape. He realized he was sprawled on the Tipton kitchen floor, with his little brother passed out beside him, one hand clamped above his wrist and snoring softly. Gradually his breathing slowed to normal. _Home sweet home_, he thought, willing the sense of calm detachment to return. _It's good to be back_.

The strangeness of the situation became apparent. Distantly he recalled trying to undress Maddie followed by an attack of conscience, Maddie leaving the kitchen, Cody stumbling in singing loudly. And then way too much champagne. He couldn't remember a thing he and Cody had talked about.

The awkwardness of the situation also became apparent.

"Dude, get up!" he exclaimed, shoving Cody away from him. "This is _not_ cool."

"Huh?" Cody's eyes jerked open. "What the–?"

Glass shattered around them as they sprang to their feet, making them both wince. Zack slapped a hand over the light switch on the wall. The fluorescent lights illuminated a scene of post-party disarray—broken glass, empty bottles, a huge tray encrusted with leftover cake. The rest of the cake seemed to be on his shirt.

_Great. Just great.  
_

"Dude, we are _never_ talking about this night," he said, swiping his hands on the suit pants he'd borrowed from Cody. Dead brain cells were oozing down the back of his neck. "It's like that thing that happened that one time at Harvard. That shit is classified."

"Agreed." Cody nodded vigorously from the other side of the counter, and immediately rested his head on the surface, his face contorting. "And I am _never_ drinking again," he groaned.

_Poor Codester_. Zack could feel his brother's pain, even as he laughed to himself over the cake-stained tie that hung askew around Cody's head. Cody had a history of being a lightweight and tended to embarrass himself when he drank too much.

Cody smiled weakly at him then. "Hey, Zack, I'm glad to see you're still here, and I'm not just crazy or dreaming."

Zack felt the same way. "Yeah, me, too, buddy." He gave Cody a brotherly fist pound across the counter.

A BlackBerry buzzed and Cody straightened up. "OK, I'm going to go take a shower," he declared.

As they turned to leave, Zack heard a crunch under his boot. He picked up a cracked blue gadget. "What the hell _is_ this?" he asked.

Cody was tapping at the BlackBerry. "Just my gamma ray deflector," he answered. "Don't worry about it. I can get another one."

Zack tossed the damaged deflector onto the cake tray and pushed opened the doors. The clean-up crew had already dealt with the rest of the kitchen. According to the big clock on the wall, it was 0530.

"I'm not even supposed to be here right now," Cody said uneasily, glancing up at the clock. The persistent buzzing quickly reclaimed his attention.

Zack took another look at the kitchen. The momentousness occurred to him. "Hey, can you feel it?" he asked his brother.

Cody looked up from the BlackBerry. "Feel what?"

Zack wasn't used to smiling this much. His face actually hurt. He slung an arm around Cody and announced, "Today is the first day of the rest our lives."

* * *

**A/N: Extra bonus points if you can guess my favourite movie of 2009. Part 1 of this chapter owes inspiration to the timeless Depeche Mode song "Enjoy the Silence." Poor Cody will finally have to replace the gamma ray deflector he's been carrying around since his days on the **_**S.S. Tipton**_**.**

**P.S. Now that this first arc is officially wrapped up, I'll be returning to the regular Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday night posting schedule. I'll be taking a short hiatus from posting between Christmas and New Year's, but I promise not to end on too much of a cliffhanger. Thanks for sticking with the story, you guys, and for your amazing, inspiring reviews. Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	13. Parklife

**A/N: Back to the suite/sweet life…

* * *

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**Chapter 13: Parklife

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_All the people  
So many people  
And they all go hand in hand  
Hand in hand through their parklife_

_Blur, "Parklife"_

[-]

**TWO MONTHS LATER…**

**SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2019**

"Cody is just being overprotective," Maddie said as she pushed Kassidy's swing a little higher.

Zack nodded in agreement. "It's kind of ironic that he hired me to be a bodyguard just so _he_ can keep an eye on _me_." Kaley veered back toward him and he gave her another push. The three-year-old squealed happily. "He gets edgy whenever I'm out of sight." Predictably, his TMI BlackBerry began to buzz in the pocket of his jeans and he pressed the Ignore button. He'd already disabled the device's GPS application.

"Well, you can't really blame him," Maddie pointed out. "After all, you've only been back for a couple of months. Although I have to say, I can't picture you in that black suit."

_Me neither_, thought Zack. _From fighting insurgents to baby-sitting my brother and a bunch of pompous power junkies. How the mighty have fallen..._ He didn't need the money to pay for his suite at the Tipton, but the job gave him something to do for now. The Delta Force Operator Training Course had taught him how to provide executive protection, plus he felt he owed Cody for disappearing for so long. Being a bodyguard also came with a few perks.

"I have a company car and I get to travel a lot," he said, pushing Kaley again. "We were in Dallas and Palm Springs last week, and New York the week before that. I went down to Coney Island on my one afternoon off, and played Shoot the Freak and watched the side show. Gotta love that bearded woman."

Maddie shook her head at him, her shoulder-length blonde hair fanning out in the breeze. "Same old Zack," she said with a playful laugh.

Zack felt glad to be hanging out with Maddie and her daughters in Boston Common on this sunny September afternoon. They'd only visited Boston once over the summer. He was especially glad things weren't uncomfortable between him and Maddie after he'd stopped them from getting carried away at the big party for his and Cody's 26th birthday.

"Wheee!" Five-year-old Kassidy jumped off her swing, landing in the grass. Zack remembered convincing Cody to do the same thing when they were that age. Cody had once ended up with a concussion. Kaley wriggled in the baby swing and held up her arms. He pulled her out and tossed her in the air, making her shriek with laughter. Kassidy demanded a turn of her own and he obliged.

When she was back on her feet, Kassidy pointed to the park's wooden climbing structure. "Let's go over there now!"

"Yeah!" Kaley clamoured and grabbed his hand. Kassidy grabbed his other hand.

Zack let himself be hauled along. The little blonde girls always made him forget about the rest of the world. He and Maddie settled themselves on a bench as Kaley and Kassidy ran to join the mob of children at the playground.

"It's really good to see you again, Zack." Maddie's brown eyes sparkled in the sunlight. "Of course, I wouldn't have missed the Foundation's one-year anniversary gala."

"I am so proud of Cody and London," she continued. "They've accomplished so much, what with donating millions of dollars to Doctors Without Borders, War Child and peace studies programs at universities all over the world."

Zack thought of his brother's long-winded speech in the Tipton ballroom the night before. Cody had thanked the 500 attendees for making the Foundation's first year a success and introduced the new Board of Directors, while London beamed at his side and posed for photographers. "Yeah, they're really heroes," he said and immediately wondered if he'd sounded more sarcastic than he meant to.

But Maddie clearly had another angle in mind. "Cody doesn't seem to appreciate all of London's hard work fundraising and networking." There was no mistaking her accusing tone.

Neutrally, Zack said, "He probably thinks London only cares about throwing galas and showing off to her airhead society friends."

Maddie made a face. "Schmoozing with rich people and throwing parties are what London does best," she said fiercely. "And she always succeeds when she puts her mind to something, like chess or volleyball or calligraphy. She's grown up a lot over the past year."

"Well, she's still a little shallow." Could this be denied about his brother's fiancée?

"London may be a shallow pool," Maddie said defensively. "But she's a pool carved out of diamonds, filled with champagne." Her eyes narrowed menacingly. "And Cody better not forget that."

Zack opted to keep his mouth shut, certain that anything he said would get distorted through a girl filter and reported back to London. He didn't want to condemn Cody to sharing the dog mansion with Ivana II.

Maddie seemed to take the hint. She opened a package of digestive cookies from her shoulder bag. As they munched in silence, Zack's BlackBerry resumed buzzing. Once again he pressed Ignore.

"So, how are your parents?" she asked.

"Back on tour, finally," he told her. "I'm still weirded out that they're together again, but at least they seem to be happy." Turning the black metal wristband, a new habit, he wondered if his parents' rekindled relationship would last. Unlike his brother, he'd never harboured a secret wish that Mom and Dad would get back together. Once something was over, he figured, it was over.

"Have you seen much of Mr. Moseby?"

"Yeah, the Mosebys have invited me over for dinner a few times. I never thought the day would come when Moseby would actually _want_ to see me. Or be working for my brother as an 'innovation analyst.' " Zack wasn't clear on what Moseby did other than send bizarre reports to Cody at all hours.

"Well, Mr. Moseby _was_ pretty trendy in his youth." Maddie giggled in the way he'd always found adorable. "Remember those photos on the wall of his office at the Tipton with his various 'cool' hairstyles?"

Zack knew the photos too well from sneaking into Moseby's office to "borrow" master keycards. The memories made him smile. "And the twins are worse trouble-makers than Cody and I ever were. Serves Moseby and Tutweiller right." He hoped the basic espionage skills he'd taught Elijah and Tasha wouldn't get them into too much trouble.

Maddie opened the cookie package again. "Have you been catching up with old friends?"

"I saw Warren a few weeks ago," he said. "And my buddy Bob."

"The red-headed chubby kid, right?" Maddie's face registered a glimmer of recollection.

"Yeah, him. No surprise that he's now an associate used car salesman." Zack avoided touching Maddie's hand when he took another cookie. "Balding, too."

"What about that anal-retentive girl he and Cody both dated... Barbara something?" Maddie bit into her own cookie.

Before answering, Zack made sure no children were within earshot. "Bob told me they were together for a while after high school, but then Barbara started getting into S&M. One night she got a little carried way with the nipple clamps and accidentally ripped off one of Bob's nipples." Telling the story with a straight face required too much effort and he burst into laughter.

"No way?" Maddie goggled at him.

"Way," he affirmed, still laughing. "Last Bob heard, she's working as a professional dominatrix in Nevada."

When she'd finished sputtering cookie crumbs, Maddie asked, "So what did Cody say about all that?"

"I don't think he knows." Zack hadn't mentioned Bob's misfortune to Cody, nor his visit with Bob.

"You didn't tell him?" Maddie's eyebrows shot up.

"Maddie, we're adults. We don't tell each other every little thing anymore." He sent her a sideways eye roll. "And anyway, Cody wrote off Bob as soon as Barbara cheated on him with Bob while we were at sea school."

"Hey, speaking of sea school," Maddie remarked, "have you been in touch with Bailey Pickett since getting back?"

Zack absorbed the oddness of hearing Maddie say Bailey's full name. His long-time crush had never met Bailey, but knew the story of their relationship. Since he had no one else to talk to, he decided to confide in Maddie. "Actually, I sent her an email a few weeks ago just to say hey, and it bounced back."

"Have London and Cody been any help?"

"Well, London doesn't even remember her, which doesn't surprise me," he related, maintaining an offhanded tone. "And every time I bring up Seven Seas High with Cody, he changes the subject. I guess sea school brings back bad memories of the crisis at Tipton Industries, before he got to step in and save the day."

Maddie assumed a thoughtful expression. "Hmmm, did you try Googling her?"

"Yeah, but no luck." The hours he'd spent on his laptop searching for various old friends had yielded few results.

"Finding people online is a lot harder now that the social media fad is over," Maddie said in a commiserating tone. "Trevor was beyond thrilled when that major online privacy act was passed in 2016. But what about 411 dot com?"

"And call every single Pickett in the country?" He rolled his eyes at her again. "Because that's not stalkerish at all."

Maddie rested her elbow on the back of the bench, cupping her chin. She seemed determined to help. "Well, you could always try her alumni association. Didn't Bailey go to Yale?"

That route hadn't worked, either. "An old army buddy of mine just graduated from Yale, and he couldn't find any record of her in the alumni directory."

"Maybe she's part of that new anti-online movement?"

"Or maybe she's just married, has a new last name and graduated from somewhere else." This seemed like the most logical explanation for his high school girlfriend's inaccessibility. _As if a girl like Bailey would still be single_. He was beginning to feel foolish for spending so much time on what had to be a waste of effort.

Maddie's eyes lit up. "Why don't you contact TMI's Corporate Investigations Department?" she suggested. "They can find out anything about anyone. Trevor uses them to run background checks on Senator Babatundé's staff." She opened her purse and unsnapped her wallet. "Here," she said, holding out a business card.

"_Ben Geller, Certified Corporate Investigator_," he read. _Could work as a last resort_.

"Trevor says he's the best," Maddie said. "Last year Ben discovered that one of the senior policy advisors had wives in three different countries, and a few secret bank accounts."

Zack took this as a good sign. "Thanks, Maddie," he said, pocketing the card. Once more the BlackBerry buzzed. This time he sent a text in reply. _"Dude chill. Back soon."_

The sunlight had begun to wane, a reminder that summer was over. Maddie brushed crumbs from her jeans and sweatshirt, and surveyed the playground. The flocks of children had thinned out. "We should get going," she said wistfully.

All three Fitzpatrick-Bristow girls kissed him on the cheek after he'd walked them to Maddie's hybrid SUV, parked in the nearby garage.

"We'll try to come back soon," Maddie said through her unrolled window. "Take good care of yourself, and your brother. And good luck."

"Byeee, Uncle Zack!" the girls chimed in unison from the backseat.

Zack waved to them until the SUV was out of sight. As he started walking back to the Tipton, he felt a new spring in his step.

* * *

**A/N: Thus Zack finally gets to travel the world in a private jet instead of a military helicopter, which he mentions to Hannah in Chapter 3. This chapter is named after the 90s Britpop song and album "Parklife" by Blur.**

**P.S. Answers to trivia questions in Chapter 12:**

**"Today is the first day of the rest of our lives" is the final line of **_**Clerks 2**_** spoken by Randall to Dante who is complaining that he isn't even supposed to be here today, even though they now own the Quick Stop.**

_**The Hangover**_** is my favourite movie of 2009—definitely the most hilarious comedy I've ever seen. Even the CP/BF couldn't predict all the wacky plot twists.**


	14. Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend

**A/N: Thank you again for the reviews, you guys. Winter officially arrived in Toronto yesterday, so I'm feeling kind of blah, but ice and snow are great reasons to stay indoors and write.

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**Chapter 14: "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend"

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**MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 2019**

_Diamonds! Diamonds!  
I don't mean rhinestones!  
But diamonds are a girl's best friend._

_Sung by Marilyn Monroe in "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" (1953)_

[-]

"Checkmate, Zombie," announced London smugly. "Yay, me!"

Zack stared at the chess board as if he couldn't believe she could still destroy him in less than 10 moves.

"Want to play again?" she asked. "I'll let you win this time." Cody was the only one who'd ever beaten her at chess, and even that didn't happen very often_. Among other things..._

Zack picked up a handful of chess pieces. "War is like chess, except the pawns die for real," he said ambiguously.

_Huh?_ "So, do you want to play again?" she asked.

"No, I'm good." Zack took possession of the TV remote and started flipping channels. Images flicked by on the 100-inch organic LED screen mounted to the wall of the penthouse suite's media room.

Channel surfing infuriated London on principle. _Why can't guys just pick a show and stick with it?_ She did admire his ability to work the complex remote, though. For the first couple of weeks after buying the TV, both she and Cody had needed Jarvis the butler's help just to turn it on.

Reclining on the black leather sofa, London tried to tune out the disjointed sounds. She recalled a short conversation from a week ago. "So, should I get Millicent to make that appointment for you?"

"What appointment?" Zack looked over at her.

"With Dr. Matsuda?" London supplied. "She just did Portia's third nose and totally fixed Muffy Silverstone's hideous crow's feet."

Zack exhaled, his eyes on the screen. "London, I keep telling you, chicks dig scars."

London felt her teeth grind. _Maybe in _your_ world, but you're back with _us_ now_. "Well, just think about it," she pressed. "Dr. Matsuda is the best cosmetic surgeon in Boston."

Zack kept on flipping channels.

The black metal wristband caught her eye again. Kyle Lawford's chauffeur Dominic wore a similar one inscribed with the name of his brother who'd been killed serving in Iraq. "Do you want a name engraved on that?" she asked kindly. "I'm going to see Maurizio, my jeweller, tomorrow."

He pulled his shirt cuff down over the wristband. "No."

Miffed, London inspected her mauve-painted nails. _I'm just trying to help_, she fumed.

CNN showed up on-screen. Zack watched for a few seconds, then clicked on to NBC. _The Evening Show with Russell Peters _had just begun.

"Cool," he said as Russell introduced comedic legend Jamie Rallison, who was promoting his new Vegas show. "This guy did a show on the _S.S. Tipton_ when he was just starting out. You, me and Bailey went to see it. He was hilarious."

_Stupid sea school._ London couldn't understand why Zack remembered so much about those few months at sea, when he'd spent even less time there than she had. Daddy had let her go home to Boston—back to civilization!—when he popped up at his villa on Parrot Island, after hiding out during the media scandal that almost destroyed Tipton Industries. Cody had gone with her, and Daddy had been so impressed with Cody's patented mechanical spice rack that he'd gotten him into Harvard Business School for the spring 2010 semester.

Jamie Rallison had staying power. London laughed at most of his jokes and decided to book him for the Foundation's November fundraising dinner. She texted Millicent to get in touch with the comedian's publicist. The expression "I'll have my people call your people" gave London a particular thrill. She loved having "people."

At the end of the interview, Zack's BlackBerry buzzed. "Twenty-two thirty, time to go get Mr. Innovation from his Board meeting," he said and stood up. From the table he took his aviator sunglasses and the keys to his TMI Mercedes.

"Just get Esteban to send a limo," London yawned and stretched her legs out on the sofa. Her toes felt cramped in her Christian Louboutin ankle boots, new for the fall season.

"Nah, it's OK," he replied, sticking the aviators into the pocket of his black suit jacket.

Leaving the chess board and dinner plates for Jarvis to put away, London walked Zack to the front door of the penthouse suite. "Bring Cody straight home," she ordered. "No strip clubs this time."

He shot her a teasing smile as he headed to the elevators. "Yes, _Mom_."

London had to giggle. Her almost brother-in-law was definitely quieter these days, but she knew he was the same funny guy as before.

Being alone in the penthouse suite bothered London less than it used to. She wandered into her office, where Millicent had set out her reading material for the week. Since taking on her job as Director, Fundraising and Events Management with the Foundation, London had resolved to read for one hour each day. She needed to study fundraising strategies, event design trends, and potential Board members who would bring power and prestige to Cody's pet project. She was hugely pleased with herself for sticking with the plan. Annual reports were much more challenging than fashion magazines and the personalized fairytale books Daddy had sent her for her tenth birthday.

This week's choices included reports from Save the Trees, Autism Speaks, and Doctors Without Borders, plus the latest issue of _Forbes_ magazine. London skipped to the _Forbes_ article entitled "The New Face of Corporate America," a profile of her very own fiancé.

_Daddy must have set this up_, she said to herself as she read the first paragraph. _Now everybody will finally forget that Tipton Industries used to manufacture chemical weapons._ That unpleasant revelation had been a major part of the media scandal.

But the more she read, the more she glowed with pride over Cody's accomplishments. She'd made an exception in dating Cody Martin when he was still a poverty-stricken nerd who had to work hard for her affections. Now he was everything she'd ever wanted—a big heart plus an even bigger bank account. The _Forbes_ reporter clearly felt the same way about the man she loved. The profile called him a kinder, gentler business leader who cared as much about world-wide peace as he did about profit margins and strategic acquisitions. London felt incredibly proud of her fiancé. _If only he were proud of me, too_, she thought sadly.

The ring on her left hand symbolized happier times, especially the night of August 10, 2017. Cody had taken her up to the hotel's roof, raving about his new telescope. Prepared for another boring lecture on astronomy, she'd dutifully looked through the lens...

There, projected across the moon, were the words "Will you marry me?"

"YES!" she screamed out immediately. She turned to kiss him, but to her shock, he was gone. _Gasp!_

Then she heard a voice say, "Down here."

London looked to her feet where Cody was kneeling, holding up a velvet box. Inside was the biggest diamond ring she'd ever seen. Her whole life she'd waited for this moment.

Giddily, she repeated her acceptance. "_Yes_!"

Cody's nervous expression morphed into a happy, relieved grin. He placed the ring on her trembling finger.

"Yay me!" she cried and clapped her hands. The new weight on her left hand delighted her.

"Yay _us_," he confirmed, taking her hands in his.

London's heart soared with joy. She hurled herself at her wonderful adorable fiancé, covering him with kisses, knocking them both onto the patio floor. It had been a very memorable night.

According to news reports the following day, six other couples around the world had also seen the proposal transmitted from the Tipton Two space resort. Four of them broke up, one got married that very night and the other had to go to the emergency room to have a chopstick removed from the man's ear.

[***]

The next morning London woke up in bed, wearing her comfy leopard-patterned night shirt. _Oops,_ _I must have dozed off again while reading annual reports_. A familiar shape rustled next to her and her heart jumped.

"Did you carry me up to bed last night?" she asked her fiancé. He had on the blue silk pajamas she'd given him for his 26th birthday.

"Board meeting ran until after midnight." His reply was muffled by pillows. "Must've been Jarvis."

Refusing to be rebuffed, London snuggled up to her fiancé and ran her fingertips along the sensitive area behind his ear. "Morning, sunshine," she cooed in her sweetest voice and blew lightly on his neck. You didn't live with someone for eight years without discovering all of their pleasure points.

To her delight, Cody rolled onto his back. London moved closer, encouraged by the flicker of desire in his eyes. She lowered her lips and kissed him gently. The flicker became a flame. They kissed again, London breathing in the heady scent of his Armani cologne. Cody pulled her on top of him. London pushed her hips against his. His response excited her. Eagerly she untied his pajama bottoms.

Abruptly Cody's BlackBerry began to buzz on the bedside table and he sat up to answer it. "Oh hey, Marion," he said in his everyday business voice. "Thanks for the mid-Q3 report... vintage cocktail sticks are back? Are you serious?"

London watched as Cody stood up and walked into the hall in his boxers, debating the appeal of classic versus modern cocktail sticks with Moseby. Tears of frustration scalded her eyes. Slumping onto the scattered pillows, she waited for the unwelcome phone call to end.

When Cody still hadn't returned, twenty minutes later, London took out her own BlackBerry and hit the third speed-dial number. "Hello, Pierre?" she said to her personal shopper at Tiffany's. "Can you send over that tennis bracelet from the Giana Photilde collection?" _So what if I already have 25 diamond bracelets? One or five more won't hurt._

Pierre complied as always, and suggested a few other pieces that might appeal to Ms. Tipton's discerning taste. She arranged for half the collection to be delivered by noon.

Ivana II trotted into the bedroom, her gold-plated titanium leash trailing behind her.

"Diamonds _are_ a girl's best friend," London reminded Ivana II. The Pomeranian gave her a cryptic look. _Well,_ _I can always give Kaley and Kassidy some bracelets for Christmas_.

The BlackBerry buzzed its way into her thoughts. London checked the screen, assuming Pierre had sent a text to confirm her order. Instead she saw a message from Kyle Lawford: _"Have dinner with me next Thursday._" It was a statement, not a question.

"_OK_," she texted back. _Why not?_

Cody walked in while she was waiting to see if Kyle would reply. "Sorry," he said ruefully. "Mr. Moseby really cares a lot about cocktail sticks."

London stashed the BlackBerry under a pillow and smiled.

* * *

**A/N: And Mr. Moseby's history of bad timing continues... :) In Chapter 1, Cody prepared for an interview with the **_**Forbes**_** reporter who wrote the now-published profile. Jamie Rallison is a real comedian and a friend of the CP/BF. We wanted to give him some publicity. We also think award-winning Canadian comedian Russell Peters deserves his own evening talk show. Autism Speaks is mentioned for Undefinedliving. Please review and reviews. Love from Ellie – Xoxoxo**


	15. Just a Sappy Idealist

**Disclaimer: NBC owns Ben Geller.

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**Chapter 15: "Just a Sappy Idealist"

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**WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 2019**

"Sorry if I seemed a little groggy just now," said Marion Moseby as he and Cody entered the elevator on the 30th floor of Tipton Tower. He rubbed his hands over his temples. "I haven't been getting much sleep lately."

"Why, what's going on?" Cody asked, putting his business BlackBerry into his pocket. The former hotel manager, who had delivered riveting presentation on cocktail stick suppliers at the weekly Innovation Strategy meeting, was inordinately hard on himself.

"Well, the strangest things have been happening," Mr. Moseby told him. "For example, just as I was getting home the other night, I thought I saw these two young hooligans running into the bushes wearing night vision goggles. But when I went inside and checked on the children, they were both asleep in their beds."

Consternation creased his forehead. "I wanted to call the police, but Emma kept saying I was imagining things."

Impartially, Cody asked, "Was this before or after Zack came over for dinner?"

The creases deepened. "After," he replied thoughtfully.

"Hmmm." Cody figured his Innovation Analyst could put two and two together.

The elevator stopped at the 52nd floor, where Mr. Moseby's office was located. "Don't worry, Marion, it was a great presentation," he praised Mr. Moseby. "See you in L.A. on Friday."

[***]

"Hey Ben, how's it going?" Cody greeted the blond-haired man as he stepped into the lobby on the 60th floor after another meeting. Every time he saw Ben Geller, Cody had to do a double take. TMI's star corporate investigator could have passed for his other twin. In fact, Ben sometimes stood in for Cody when he had to be in two places at once.

"I'm here about your brother's case," replied Ben with a friendly smile.

This was news to Cody. "My brother's case?" he asked. _Since when does Zack have a case involving the Corporate Investigations Department?_

"Just a straightforward case." Ben pulled a slim manila folder out of his briefcase once they were inside Cody's spacious corner office. "We have a 1:00 meeting."

Cody held out a hand. "Let me see that," he said.

"It's confidential," Ben countered, eyeballing him quizzically. "I can only discuss this information with my client. You know that, Cody."

Fixing a cold stare upon him, Cody stated, "Ben, _your_ client is _my_ twin brother. His business _is_ my business."

Ben kept the folder firmly in his hands. "It's confidential," he repeated.

Cody's pulse tripled under the starched cuffs of his dress shirt. He decided to go one step further. "And _you're_ an employee of TMI, Ben," he said in the voice he'd honed from listening to his mom. "Which means _I'm_ also your boss. So_ hand it over_."

Grudgingly Ben surrendered the folder. Cody opened it and scanned the two documents inside. "Thanks, Ben," he said smoothly. "I'll tell Zack." Changing gears felt easy. "Actually I'm glad you're here," he continued, "because we have another case for you. I was going to have Teresa call your department today."

"But...?" Ben stammered, fidgeting with his dinosaur-patterned tie. Cody almost felt sorry for him.

Almost, but not quite.

Reaching across his immaculate desktop, Cody pressed the direct line of Teresa Chan, TMI's imposing Director, Special Markets. "Ben Geller's in my office," he notified her. "I'm sending him down now."

Fortunately Teresa was at her desk. "Excellent timing," she boomed through the speakerphone.

Cody swiftly ushered Ben to the door. "Great seeing you again, Ben. And thanks for the quick turnaround, as always." He shut the door without letting the corporate investigator say another word.

The folder was still in his hand. Cody paused, then fed the folder into the paper shredder next to his desk. He waited for a twinge of guilt, but felt nothing.

A glorious fall day beckoned from outside, and he gravitated to the huge windows. With their view of Boston Bay, they were his favourite characteristic of the office he'd inhabited since being promoted to Senior Vice President, Innovation. Beyond the Financial District he could see Long Wharf, where yachts bobbed and tourists clustered. When the anticipated pang finally came, he realized he felt guilty for not feeling guilty. His business BlackBerry buzzed and, grateful for the diversion, he concentrated on reading the latest innovation update from Mr. Moseby.

Just as he finished, Zack ambled in, wearing his bodyguard uniform and eating a chocolate bar. "Hey, Mr. Innovation," he said, between bites. "Have you seen Ben Geller, the PI who looks freakishly like us? He was supposed to meet me in the lobby at 1:00."

Cody's thoughts clicked into place before the need to stall arose. "You just missed him. He got an emergency call from another division. But he did have some bad news. No leads on your case."

"None at all?" Zack's left eyebrow rose slightly, then drooped. He definitely looked disappointed, but not heartbroken.

"Ben tried everything he could," Cody said and shrugged one shoulder. "Sorry."

Zack shrugged, too. "Maddie said this guy is the best there is. Oh well." His gaze shifted away from Cody to the windows.

"Sorry, Zack." Cody realigned a column of files on his desk. Suddenly he wanted to escape the recycled air of Tipton Tower and spend some quality time with his brother. "Come on, let's go for lunch at Sel de La Terre." He took his black Armani jacket from the coat stand. "We don't even need a reservation."

"Cool." Zack followed him into the hall, and Cody hoped the matter was closed.

"So what's new in the world of mechanical spice racks and whatever it is you do?" Zack asked as they headed down State Street. The waterfront restaurant, known for its gourmet lunch fare, was within walking distance.

Cody welcomed the question. "Art deco cocktail sticks will be all the rage by 2021," he enthused. "Which means we're seeking progressive acquisition targets to support our core businesses."

"Buying cocktail stick factories keeps TMI on the Fortune 500 list?" Zack's eyebrows slanted dubiously at him.

Cody harked back to a ninth-grade history paper he'd written for Zack on Howard Hughes. "Put it this way. The eccentric aviator Howard Hughes became one of the world's wealthiest people because his father patented the two-cone rotary drill bit, which revolutionized oil well drilling and–."

"I get it," Zack interrupted. "The smallest thing can make a huge difference."

"We also buy hotels and resorts," Cody said. "The Hospitality Division is still the economic engine of TMI. And the space resort, of course."

As they crossed Atlantic Avenue, he saw a homeless veteran sitting at the corner. He noticed Zack look over his shoulder several times at the vet.

[***]

After lunch, courtesy of his corporate expense account, Cody cancelled a short meeting so that they could stay at the wharf longer. The sunny September sky reminded him of other afternoons he'd spent here, blackness sucking at the edges of his mind, while a hawk-eyed bodyguard lurked close by.

One conversation had always kept him grounded.

He turned to Zack, who was watching the port where cruise boats departed for harbour tours. "Remember that day you talked me into skipping school for the first time and I told you school would give me the tools to fight disease, war, and poverty?" he asked. "The same day I kissed that singer Matisse?"

Zack smirked like the obnoxious 13-year-old he'd been. "Didn't I also make fun of you for doing school work, homework, and weekend work?"

Cody ignored that part of the memory. "Anyway, TMI gives me bigger, better tools. The Foundation pretty much became my coping mechanism while you were away. I knew if I just kept doing my best to make the world a better place, you'd come home." In hindsight, Cody also knew this behaviour sounded like a textbook case of bargaining, the third stage of grief, but it still felt logical to him. "And at the same time, other families, parents, brothers, sisters, partners might not have to go through such an ordeal."

"How's that working out for you?" Zack asked.

"Well, you're here aren't you?" he justified, pointing out the obvious.

"It didn't have anything to do with your balls and galas," Zack said. Then he put a hand on Cody's shoulder. "But you're doing a good job, so keep it up."

Cody chose to accept this as a compliment, despite the backhanded tone. The ongoing distance he sensed between them unnerved him. _At least Zack is home and in one piece_, he told himself firmly. _Plenty of other families aren't as lucky._ Aloud he said, "Guess I'm just a sappy idealist" and knew it was the truth.

They strolled in silence again. Cody had grown accustomed to his brother's long silences. As he so often did, he wanted to ask Zack what had happened to him during that lost year, yet suspected he would hear another evasive account of lawn bowling with yak herders. Though he felt shut out, and by extension, hurt, Cody understood from experience that sometimes the real story could be too traumatic to tell.

At the end of the wharf, Zack put on his aviator sunglasses and looked to the port again. "I thought for sure Ben would be able to find Bailey, even if she's married now and has a different last name," he said. "I hope she's OK, wherever she is."

The bleakness in Zack's voice closed the distance slightly. "Hey, do you want to go to L.A. this weekend?" Cody suggested, wishing to cheer up his brother. "The Hospitality Division is having its third-quarter meeting there and we can use your services."

"Yeah, that would be cool." Zack brightened visibly, a half-smile on his lips. "Just like that time we went to L.A. to turn our lives into a TV show."

The buzzing BlackBerry alerted Cody to his 3:30 meeting with Sean Silverstone, and they started back toward Tipton Tower.

"I'll get my assistant to make all the arrangements." Cody keyed a message. Zack was no longer walking next to him when he finished. With the familiar stab of anxiety, he glanced around State Street.

The scene that unfolded before his eyes felt like a movie. A movie chock-full of dream sequences and mixed-up timelines.

Zack was talking to the vet on the corner. Squatting down, he handed the battered man a stack of bills from his wallet. Then he walked over to Cody and reached into his jacket pocket for the Prada wallet. Cody was too dumbfounded to oppose, or to catch his wallet when Zack tossed it back to him after removing all the bills. Zack gave them to the vet, approximately $200, then shook his hand. The vet saluted Zack and he returned the gesture.

_Who have you become?_ Cody found himself thinking. _Do I even know you anymore?

* * *

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**A/N: The conversation mentioned in this chapter occurs at the beginning of the SLOZAC episode "What the Hey." The five stages of grief, which Carey tried to explain to London in Chapter 8, are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Thanks to Mr. BC for recommending Boston locations. Please read and review. Big thanks to you guys and happy Hannukah to all my Jewish readers. Xoxoxo – Ellie**

**P.S. The twins are finally off to Los Angeles. Will this trip include a visit to a certain famous pier?**


	16. You Changed My Life

**A/N: We're off to Long Island, NY, in this chapter. Does London have a date with destiny?

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**Chapter 16: "You Changed My Life"

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**THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 2019**

London was a bit surprised when Kyle's chauffeur Dominic drove her to the Lawfords' private jet parked at Logan Airport instead of to L'Espalier or Meritage, two of Boston's finest restaurants. The dinner destination turned out to be the Lawfords' summer house in East Hampton. Though she would have preferred somewhere more exotic, like Miami or Bermuda, London was happy to visit the Hamptons. The Lawfords' part of East Hampton Village positively reeked of old money, but not as much as Southampton, where one of Daddy's summer houses was located.

The real estate developer himself was waiting for her on the verandah of the Dutch Colonial house when the limo pulled up. "So great to see you, London," he proclaimed in his arrogant boarding school accent. He kissed both of her cheeks.

London flashed a generic charming smile. She and Kyle had known each other forever. Their fathers belonged to the New England old boys' network, and she'd had a major crush on Kyle when she was 15 and he was 18. On their first date they'd gone to an Usher concert with Maddie and Kyle's best friend, Jason Harrington. Jason was now on the Board of the Tipton Martin Foundation for World Peace, and Kyle was serving a second Board term.

Kyle looked handsome in a pink linen shirt, sharply creased grey slacks, and shiny tasseled loafers. He led her around the side of the house to the lush, leafy garden. Dusk had fallen, sending soft shadows across the lawn and patio. Floodlights cast glimmers onto the surface of the pool, and she saw a full dinner service laid out on a large table by the pool.

London sat down, taking care not to wrinkle her cream-coloured pants suit (since it was after Labour Day, she couldn't wear white) and crossed her feet demurely. Over the years she and Cody had been to many parties here, and Kyle had become a closer friend to them both lately, being a founding Board member. However, this was the first time he'd invited just her to dinner. She wondered if—or when—a catch would be revealed.

Kyle snapped his fingers and a butler materialized at his side. From a bucket of ice, he lifted a bottle of white wine.

"London, you must try this divine chardonnay that Dad brought back from Alto-Adige," Kyle intoned as the butler poured a splash into her glass. "The creamy oak taste has just the right nutty note with a pleasing apricot twist."

London deemed that the chardonnay met her high standards and the butler was allowed to continue pouring the drinks. Servers arrived with braised dover sole, accompanied by white asparagus, chanterelles, and sorrel. They lit two candles and vanished into the twilight.

_Kind of romantic. OK, definitely romantic._

"So, how have you been, London?" Kyle asked as they began to eat. "I didn't really get a chance to talk to you at the Foundation's anniversary gala, with all the photographers crowding around you."

"Fantabulous," she replied lightly. "I just booked Jamie Rallison, the famous comedian, for our November fundraising dinner."

"You're an event planning genius, London." Kyle sliced into his sole. "We'd be lost without you."

"Thanks," she chirped. "And thank _you_ for getting Jason to run for the Board."

He grinned and ran a hand through his bushy brown hair. "No problem at all. I know you how feel about Chelsea Brimmer."

Unlike Maddie, Kyle understood London's need to crush the Brimmer family for launching a bid to buy out Tipton Industries after the media scandal. Save the Trees, the Brimmers' charity, had _no_ credibility without the tree-loving Jason Harrington on its Board of Trustees.

Kyle began to discuss sponsorship opportunities, and London jotted notes on her BlackBerry. Taking notes always helped her remember complex information. _Maybe this really is just a business dinner_. Her shoulders relaxed with a sense of vague relief.

"Well, that's enough business talk," said Kyle a few minutes later. He took the BlackBerry from her and set it on the table. In more a conversational tone, he asked, "How's Zack?" Like most of their friends and associates, Kyle knew that her almost brother-in-law had recently returned after being declared killed in action last July.

"Pretty good. He's one of Cody's bodyguards now."

"Ouch." A trace of pity showed on Kyle's face. "That must be quite the ego blow for a guy who used to be in Special Forces."

London thought of Dominic's dead brother. "At least he's alive."

"Did you ever find out what happened to him after the nuclear explosion?"

"No," she admitted. "He doesn't want to talk about it."

"Well, that's understandable. It could also be classified information."

"He did say he met some yak herders somewhere."

"Yak herders?" Kyle stroked his chin speculatively. "Could be a symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. My mom's shrink is taking on new patients. Let me know if you need a referral."

"Zack is fine," she insisted, holding back a scowl. Frown lines were one of her worst fears. "How's Amelia?" she asked, to pry into Kyle's personal life instead.

"She got the house in Cape Cod." Kyle motioned with his wrist and the butler reappeared with the chardonnay.

"I'm sorry," London said, sipping from her newly filled glass. _So he's single now_... A smidgen of sympathy dampened her curiosity. Amelia had always been nice to London, but now that she only had one house, she was officially a nobody again.

"Don't be," said Kyle shortly. "She was just a starter wife. And the property only has 25 acres." His voice softened. "But anyway, London, I think you and I both know that love can change over time."

_And here's the catch_, London determined, proud of herself for not letting his ulterior motives slip past her. Regarding Kyle across the table, she remembered how infatuated she'd once been with him. As with most of her high school loves, the relationship had fizzled after a few dates. Cody was her only serious relationship.

_Cody..._ London felt a lurch of guilt in her belly. She put down her knife and fork.

"So, I guess you're wondering why I invited you for dinner?" Kyle's perfectly veneered teeth gleamed at her in the candlelight.

_Should I play dumb? Tell him I'm not interested and leave now? Or just see what happens?_

Kyle didn't wait for a response. "London, I want to thank you," he announced.

His declaration startled her. What has he talking about?

"When you approached me to join the Board last summer, I thought it be would just another charity time-suck," he continued heartily. "But now I truly see that we the wealthy have an obligation to give back to the rest of the world.

"It tears me apart to think of all those lives destroyed by violence, terrorism, and political unrest, and I couldn't sleep at night if I wasn't doing something to make a difference. So thank you, London, from the bottom of my heart." He rose and grasped her right hand. "You changed my life."

London flushed at the flattering words. A small voice scoffed, "_As if, Lawford. I know what you really want."_ Yet the genuine-looking tears in Kyle's blue eyes suggested maybe he wasn't just trying to seduce her.

With another snap of his fingers, Kyle summoned the butler. He arrived bearing a silver tray. On the tray sat a rectangular turquoise box wrapped in a white ribbon. London's pulse quickened at the signature colour and all other thoughts flew out of her head. _Tiffany's!_

"I wanted to give you something to show my appreciation." Kyle passed the box to her. "You deserve it."

London ripped off the bow and opened the box. An Elsa Peretti necklace lay on top of a velvet bag. "It's beautiful," she breathed. While none of the 15 diamonds winking up at her were as large as the one on her left hand, the necklace was still stunning.

"Let's see how it looks on you," said Kyle, coming to stand behind her.

Obediently London swept her long dark hair to the side, and Kyle looped the delicate platinum chain twice around her neck and fastened it. A shiver ran down her spine at the nimble touch of his fingers.

"Gorgeous," he pronounced. The miniature talking mirror, which London carried in her purse, agreed enthusiastically.

"There's something else in there." Kyle lips were very close to her ear.

Inside the velvet bag she found a single key.

"To my lodge in Aspen," he said, "for whenever you and Cody feel like taking a ski trip."

"Oh, Cody doesn't ski," she replied without thinking.

"Well, just come by yourself then," said Kyle simply.

"_Maybe I will_," she wanted to say.

The butler stepped onto the patio. In plummy British tones, he reported, "Sir, a Mr. Pembroke is on line five from Australia. He intimates to me that it is quite important."

Kyle excused himself and London walked over to the flowerbeds. Her mind whirled. _Does Kyle like me for real? Is he on the rebound? What about Cody? Does he still love me?_ As she inhaled the fading scent of summer, her engagement ring felt burdensome, and so she realized did the necklace from Kyle.

When the flagstone garden path led her back to the patio, Kyle was sitting at the table. He smiled expectantly at her.

"I should get home," she said, looking at the toes of her strappy Jimmy Choo sandals. "Thank you for dinner, and for the necklace and key."

She sensed his disappointment instantly. "Your taste is wowtastic," she added. "Amelia was never good enough for you."

"I'll call Dominic to pick you up," he said crisply. "Let me know if there's anything I can do for the November fundraising dinner."

[***]

In the backseat of Kyle's limo, with the diamond necklace stowed inside her Chanel purse, London decided to let Cody know she'd be home soon. She turned off the BlackBerry's video feature and keyed in his personal number.

She felt only a flutter of dismay when Zack answered with "Hey, London, what's up?"

"Hey, Zombie, where's Cody?"

Even without the video display, she could see Zack shrug as he replied, "He just stepped out. Your dad called about some hostile takeover."

London's shoulders drooped into the leather-covered seat. "OK, I'll try his other lines," she said, knowing she wouldn't. To keep up the appearance of an ordinary conversation, she asked, "Any exciting plans for the weekend?"

"Working security at the hospitality meeting in L.A."

"Well, have fun."

"Yeah, should be good."

London was glad to hear him sound upbeat, especially after Kyle's comment about the lameness of his new job. "Well, see you Sunday," she said as cheerfully as she could and hung up.

Streetlights, trees, and gated driveways sped by outside the tinted windows. Brandi's current husband had a place in Bridgehampton and her favourite ex-stepmother would surely be able to help her figure things out. London started to ask Dominic to take her to Daddy's house in Southampton. Then she remembered Millicent had scheduled a meeting with a new event design company for 9:30 in the morning. London had had to fire the previous company when the president sneezed on Ivana II. She scrolled to her gallery of gala photos and willed the images of crystal centrepieces, floral arrangements, and happy faces lift her spirits.

[***]

It was 12:30 when Dominic drove into the Tipton driveway. London wished him a goodnight and rode up to the penthouse suite. The door to the media room was open and she poked her head inside. Zack lay asleep on the sofa, his left arm hanging over the edge. Video game controllers were strewn on the floor. Scenes of war destruction bombarded the TV screen.

London switched off CNN. "Come on, Zombie," she said with a sigh, pulling on his hand. "Time to go back to your suite."

He jolted as though she'd electrocuted him but didn't wake up. The sleeve of his black sweater slid down to his elbow and her breath hitched. The metal wristband was gone. Lines of blue text covered his forearm, surrounded by pink patches. London peered closely. Across the inside of his wrist she read _Tommy 'Tin Man' Delgado / 1989–2018_.

She counted 11 more tattooed names: _Magnus Olsson / 1980–2018_, _Jun 'Javelin' Abayan / 1983–2018_, _Dennis Garner / 1979–2018_...

Tears misted her eyes before she could read the rest. _Poor Zombie_, she thought sorrowfully. _No wonder you didn't want any names engraved on that wristband. They wouldn't have all fit._

Zack shivered and she realized he was probably cold. He was still as thin as Cody, who had always been on the skinny side, inspiring her to call him her unstuffed teddy bear.

London hurried to the nearest guest room and returned with a cashmere blanket. Tenderly she tucked it around her almost brother-in-law. "Good-night, Zombie," she whispered and kissed his cheek.

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**A/N: Kyle Lawford was London's love interest in the early SLOZAC episode "Maddie Checks In." Since London first went out on the town with both Kyle and Jason, the double date with Maddie and Jason seemed to be London's first "real' date with Kyle. The diamond necklace in this chapter is from the Elsa Peretti® Diamonds by the Yard® collection, exclusive to Tiffany's. Reviews are always welcome! Much thanks, you guys. Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	17. Believe It, Woodman

**A/N: Some of you have read an earlier version of this chapter entitled **_**A Day at Santa Monica Pier**_**. Here is the final version…

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**Chapter 17: "Believe It, Woodman"

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**FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 2019**

_All I wanna do is have some fun  
I got a feeling I'm not the only one  
All I wanna do is have some fun  
I got a feeling I'm not the only one  
All I wanna do is have some fun  
Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard_

_Sheryl Crow, "All I Wanna Do" _

[-]

Zack drummed his hands on the steering wheel as he waited for a green light on Santa Monica Boulevard. He resisted the urge to sing along to the blaring classic rock station in case any hot girls heard him through the open windows.

The light changed and he cruised into the mid-morning traffic. _The key to life_, he decided, as he passed palm trees and strip malls, _is the American Express Black Card_. All he'd had to do was hand it over at the luxury car rental place, sign a few forms, and they'd let him drive off the lot in this incredible silver Aston Martin. Too bad the name on the card was actually Cody Martin. There happened to be enough bodyguards for the hospitality meeting, so Cody had loaned him the exclusive, invitation-only credit card and told him to go have fun.

He exited onto Pacific Coast Highway and stepped on the gas, feeling the V12 engine's exhilarating surge of power. It was a good day to be alive.

[***]

Thirty minutes later he tore into the parking lot of a non-descript brick building in Van Nuys, deep in the San Fernando Valley, and stopped inches from the curb. An old friend waited at the side entrance. The brown-haired man was slim in a muscular way and wore a short-sleeved red shirt, grey shorts, and trainers. A huge grin lit up his face.

"Zack, I can't believe it's you," he called out as he ran into the parking lot. "And I _really_ can't believe this James Bond car!"

Zack stepped out of the grand tourer feeling like 007 himself. "Believe it, Woodman," he said.

Woody Fink grabbed him in a manly hug and slapped his back a few times. "Dude, I never thought I'd see you again," he exclaimed. "What a surprise!"

"Stranger things have happened." Zack was quite used to this reaction by now. Already willing to change the subject, he surveyed his friend's new kingdom. "Woodman Studios," he marveled. "From closet porn addict to adult entertainment mogul... I always knew you had it in you, man."

The compliment definitely sounded weird. "That just didn't come out right," he amended. _Crap, that was even worse._

"OK, I'm just going to put my foot in my mouth now," he resolved.

"A wise choice, my friend," Woody said approvingly and patted his shoulder. "_Foot Fetish Fever_ is one of our top-selling titles. We're up to Part 5 now."

"So how did you pull all this off?" Zack asked as Woody led him into the building. There was no point even trying to edit his speech.

"After I won that contest to star in a bongzo movie with Missy Magdalen, I knew this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life," Woody explained. "And Addison decided to give it a try... when she's on a sugar high, she's unstoppable." He paused to shake his head. "Our Internet venture really took off, so as soon as she turned 21, we invested her trust fund in our own studio. It was time to make our dreams come true—if you know what I mean."

"Cool." Nothing more needed to be said. Woody had always been famous for giving too much information.

The inside of the building looked like a regular office, with bland walls, big windows, and a lone receptionist. The autographed photos were the only indication of the type of business operating on the premises.

"So how's Cody?" Woody asked.

"You can read all about him in the latest issue of _Forbes_ magazine." Zack replied. It was the simplest answer he could give. "Apparently my little bro is the new face of Corporate America."

"Wow, that's amazing," said Woody, his eyes wide. "I guess all that studying was worth it."

Zack shrugged his shoulders. He couldn't remember a time when Cody hadn't been in the spotlight for some kind of achievement. The _Forbes_ reporter had left him several voicemails over the summer, asking if he wanted to share how Cody might have helped or inspired him, but he hadn't returned any of them.

Woody cast a sideways glance then. When his gaze returned, Zack could tell he was having difficulty looking him in the eye.

"Zack... there's something I should tell you," he said hesitantly.

"Shoot, Woodchip." Zack cringed yet again at his awkward choice of words.

Woody seemed uneasy now. "Um... I should have told you this before... Addison and I... we emailed Bailey when we got the bad news last summer. We just, uh, thought should she know."

Zack had not expected to hear this. He hadn't even known they were still in touch with her. All he could think of to say was, "You did, huh?"

"But we didn't get any reply," Woody hastened to say. "She might not have even received the email. We sent it to her old Hotmail email address. We haven't actually had any contact with her for years."

Zack swallowed a quiver of nausea. _She thinks I'm dead._ Taking a cue from old Luce in _The Catcher in the Rye_, the only book he'd enjoyed reading in high school, he decided not to pursue this horrible trend of thought. "So, where is Ms. Fink anyway?" he asked as brightly as he could.

"Here she comes now," Woody announced with pride in his voice. "May I present the star and executive producer of _Debutante Debauchery_!"

A familiar figure emerged from a door marked "Studio" at the other end of the hallway. Zack recognized her from Seven Seas High and certain movies his Delta buddies had downloaded.

"Zack!" Addison screamed. She broke into a run and threw her arms around him. "Oh my God, it's _so_ good to see you!"

She was as waif-like as ever, light enough for Zack to spin around a few times. The biggest difference was her gigantic, very round breasts that pressed firmly against him as he embraced her. _Definitely not real_, he found himself thinking.

"Addison Fink, you've hardly changed a bit," he chuckled as he set her down by the front desk.

"Actually, it's Addison Finkwright," she corrected. "I combined our names after we got married. 'Fink' plus 'Cartwright'—get it? "

This sounded wrong somehow. "Well, that's an... interesting last name," he said, trying not to be rude.

Addison laughed. "I know what you're thinking," she said. Her lips curled into a naughty smile. "It sounds _wrong_ in just in the _right_ way."

Then she peered closely at his face. "Cool scar," she commented. Woody elbowed her tiny ribcage almost imperceptibly.

Zack played the tough-guy card. "Chicks dig scars." As he regarded his two old friends, the sudden realization hit him. "You guys look just like your avatar selves in that _Better Life_ video game you used to play at Seven Seas High," he blurted.

This time they both laughed. "Yeah, we get that a lot," said Woody, putting his arm lovingly around Addison. "Brock Worthington was my first screen name and Peaches LeRoy was hers."

Addison blushed and giggled. "Hey, let's blow off work today," she said excitedly. "Zack's only in town for a few days and we have so much catching up to do. We're the bosses, we can do whatever we want."

Woody agreed to this plan. Before they left, he updated Stacy the receptionist on where to send the afternoon film crew. "And make sure you order another crate of Viagra," he instructed her. "Hey, do you need any?" he added to Zack, almost as an afterthought.

"Uh, no thanks, I'm good," Zack replied. He could tell it was going to be strange day.

They piled into the Aston Martin, and Zack gunned the engine to life. Sunlight pierced the veil of smog overhanging the Santa Monica Mountains as they drove east along Ventura Freeway, then south on Topanga Canyon Boulevard before reconnecting with Pacific Coast Highway.

[***]

Santa Monica Pier was surprisingly busy for a Friday afternoon in late September. It was just like the West Coast version of Coney Island, Zack thought after they'd parked the car. Another bunch of vintage rides, kitschy souvenir stands, and fast food vendors, plus one mega-long pier.

Addison linked arms with him and Woody while they strolled through the crowds. "It feels just like we're skipping school," she chattered. "Or like a ménage à trios," she added jokingly. At least Zack assumed she had to be joking.

Woody's video phone began to ring. "What do you mean Trixie refused?" he demanded, lodging the earpiece in place. "This is a triple-X movie, for crying out loud. Just throw more money at her!" He wandered away from Zack and Addison, gesturing wildly. Some of his hand movements bordered on obscene.

"Gimme a Halley's Comet!" Woody was shouting now, oblivious to the stares of passersby. "A Halley's Comet is just what the scene needs."

"Industry lingo," Addison clarified.

Zack had figured as much. "Do I even want to know what a Halley's Comet is?" he wondered aloud.

Addison took a bite of her churro. "Probably not."

Zack's own phone began to ring. The caller's face on the screen made him smile. The last time he'd seen that blonde hair, it had been full of bits of German chocolate cake. "Just a sec." He turned away from Addison, moved the blueberry slushie to his left hand and pressed the phone to his ear. "Hey, Hannah, how's it going?"

"Just checking that we're still on for tomorrow," said the singer cheerily.

"Yeah, for sure." Who in their right mind cancelled plans with Hannah Montana?

"Awesome. Meet me at 12:30 at Urth Caffé in West Hollywood—8565 Melrose Avenue." A minor crash sounded in the background, followed by a cry of "Sweet niblets!"

"OK, gotta go," said Hannah in a rushed tone.

"Cool, see you then." Zack slid the phone into the back pocket of his Hugo Boss jeans, another Black Card purchase. He was definitely looking forward to seeing another old friend on this impromptu trip.

Addison had obviously been watching him. "Hey, I have an idea," she proposed.

"What?"

"How would you like a part in the next _Debutante Debauchery_ movie?"

"What would I have to do?" It couldn't hurt to ask, since he'd been working out at the Tipton's fitness centre. He took another slurp from the paper cup.

She leaned close and whispered something in his ear.

Zack choked in shock, spraying a mouthful of blue slush into her canyonesque cleavage, barely concealed by her form-fitting pink sundress. "Oh crap, sorry!" he apologized when he could speak again.

Woody reappeared with a stack of napkins for his wife. "You could always wear a mask," he offered to Zack. "Do you like latex?"

This was getting into the territory of too much information. "Hey, let's go on some rides," Zack suggested and pulled out his wallet.

Woody's phone jangled again while they were in line for the Ferris wheel. "Sorry, guys, I gotta take this," he said and stepped aside.

Woody was still rambling when an attendant escorted Zack and Addison to a seat. "See you soon, baby," Addison called down to him as the ride started.

Even with the smog, the view was fantastic. Zack could just make out the Hollywood sign against the hills in the distance.

"This is the world's first solar-powered Ferris wheel," he remarked. "Cody would totally approve."

Addison cinched nearer to him on the seat. "You know, I had such a crush on you at Seven Seas High," she said. Her voice sounded suspiciously like a purr.

This was hardly a bombshell. _Everyone_ had known about her crush on him back in the day. Bailey had hated Addison for months.

"It kind of broke my heart that you were already into somebody else." Addison draped her arm over the back of the seat, her voluminous bust grazing his lap.

Zack tightened his grip on the safety bar. The primitive part of his brain was drowning in its own drool, but the rest of him still thought of Woody as one of his best friends. "Hey, it's all water under the bridge now," he said, knowing how lame this sounded.

Addison burst into a gale of laughter. "Don't worry, I'm not just hitting on you," she assured him. "Woody and I are swingers, in case you were wondering."

"No, not really," he wanted to say. Instead he looked to the ground. A bizarre sight met his eyes.

Woody remained deep in conversation. Except now he was thrusting his hips and slapping his own behind. "That's how I want it done," he commanded. "The viewers will love it."

"He does realize he's surrounded by kids and families, right?" Zack asked, feeling a mix of awe, disgust and horror. He was amazed that Cody's goofy gassy roommate had grown up into an adult movie star turned producer, much less one who practically mimed scenes from his movies in public. But he'd never been one to judge, and wasn't about to start now.

Addison rolled her lively brown eyes. "Let's just hope the kids don't know what he's talking about."

Zack had to agree with her on that.

After the Ferris wheel, lunch seemed like a good idea. "I haven't had a burrito in almost 10 years," Woody informed Zack as they passed a Mexican food stall. "Not since the big scare."

"Good to know, buddy. Good to know." Zack still felt responsible for that incident, even though he hadn't been there at the time.

Woody put an arm around Zack and messed up his hair. "Don't worry about it, man. It was best the thing that ever happened to me."

[***]

The sky flooded a light pink as the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. Zack was glad they'd stayed for this, even though he did want to get back to the L.A. Tipton. According to the latest text message on his TMI BlackBerry, Cody would be finished with his meeting by 8:00. He swung the canvas shopping bag full of souvenir stuffed animals he'd bought for Kaley and Kassidy, looking forward to spending some quality time with his brother.

Addison broke away from them and ran a few paces down the beach. "Wooo hooo!" she yelled, raising her hands up in the air. It was mind-boggling that she didn't keel straight over from the weight of her chest and fall into the sand.

Woody chased her and grabbed her around the waist. Zack watched the two high school sweethearts clown around like kids, laughing and pushing each other while the tide rolled in.

The air turned cold as soon as the sun disappeared from view. Zack decided to head back to the car. "I'll meet you at the Bondmobile," he called to them.

By then they were only a smudge in the twilight.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was partly inspired by the "Better Life" avatars of Woody and Addison in the SLOD episode "Goin' Bananas." Woody's online interests were exposed in Chapter 20 of **_**Just One the Guy**_**s. Bailey described Woody's big health scare, which happened shortly after Zack left Seven Seas High, to Alex in Chapter 8 of **_**Repercussions: Part 1**_**. Addison's **_**Debutante Debauchery**_** series refers to her mom's determination for her to be a debutante, mentioned in Chapter 12 of **_**Just One of the Guys**_** and Chapters 2 and 7 of **_**Repercussions: Part 1**_**. If you've read the original version of this chapter posted in the M-forum, which one did you prefer? Please read and review, regardless. Thanks, guys! Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	18. How Could You?

**A/N: The conversation overheard at Urth Caffé follows almost verbatim a conversation that the CP/BF and I were treated to at the same restaurant during a trip to L.A. last year. BTW, the tamales really are that good.**

**Disclaimer: Disney owns everybody from **_**Hannah Montana**_** except Shanna and Junior.

* * *

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**Chapter 18: "How Could You?"

* * *

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**SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 2019**

"_Zack!"_

Zack bolted upright at the sound of the scream, heart banging in his chest. He was in a large airy room, awash with sunlight. On one side he saw Santa Monica Pier through white-curtained windows. On the other he saw Cody dressed in a suit, typing on his laptop at a long black counter. _The Imperial Suite at the L.A. Tipton. Right._

He lay back on the grey angular sofa and stared at the ceiling. Swallowing hard, he tried to suppress the undertow. Both sleeves of his new Hugo Boss sweater had ridden up overnight and he pushed them down self-consciously.

"Morning, sunshine," Cody greeted him in a chipper voice when he walked into the kitchen area a few minutes later. Cody had sent a barrage of apologetic texts about being delayed at the hospitality meeting, and Zack hadn't heard him return to the suite.

"Do NOT call me that," Zack growled and took the coffee pot next to Cody. Making an effort not to spill on _The Wall Street Journal_, _The New York Times_, the_ Los Angeles Times_, and _The Times_, he poured himself a mug and waited for the caffeine to humanize him.

After a couple of sips, he couldn't wait any longer. "Dude," he said, "why don't you just read everything online? I thought you cared about saving the trees, along with everything else in the world."

"These are custom-printed editions that use less paper," Cody replied with a hint of defensiveness. "No comics or sports pages. But I am reading _The Seoul Times_ online."

"Hypocrite" sprang instantly to mind, but Zack restrained the retort. Not wanting to pick a fight first thing in the morning, he wandered back to the sofa with the mug. The ongoing distance he sensed between them unnerved him. He hadn't foreseen feeling so disconnected from his brother, or for so long.

An empty space on the coffee table closed the distance slightly. The white plastic bag Woody had given him containing the complete series of _Debutante Debauchery_ and other best-sellers from Woodman Studios was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Cody, there was a white bag on the table. Do you know what happened to it?" He let just the right amount of inquisitiveness tinge the question.

"Dunno what you're talking about." Cody looked intently at the laptop screen. "Maybe Housekeeping took it?"

Zack started to point out that it was only 0900, therefore too early for a visit from Housekeeping, when they heard a knock at the door, followed by "Housekeeping!"

Cody's eyes bugged out. "Wow, they're really attentive here. Someone's earning their holiday bonus." Red-faced, he went to answer the door while Zack sniggered. His baby brother had never been able to lie convincingly to him.

The housekeeper was told to come back later, and Cody reappeared in the kitchen. "Is that your Bondmobile parked downstairs?" he asked, clearly wanting to change the subject.

Zack nodded with pride. "Yeah." He took the American Express Black Card out of his wallet and tossed it to Cody. "Thanks, man."

"Hey, no problem." Cody stuffed the card into his own wallet. "So how are Woody and Addison doing?" he asked casually

Zack recapped Woody's inappropriate behaviour at the Pier. Soon they were both hysterical.

"Woody and Addison Finkwright, the First Couple of Adult Entertainment." Cody shook with laughter. "_Definitely_ not something I imagined from the guy whose biggest accomplishment used to be farting 'Stairway to Heaven.' "

"London should get them to sponsor her next fundraising gala. It would be the ultimate publicity stunt. They could hand out free latex masks to all those stuffed shirts and society snobs."

"So what's on your agenda for today?" Cody asked once the mirth had passed.

With calculated indifference, Zack replied, "Just meeting a friend for lunch. Do you need me for anything?"

"No, you're off the hook."

Zack presumed Cody would ask about his lunch date, but Cody had begun to leaf through _The Times_. He was surprised he'd never told Cody about hooking up with Hannah Montana at the military base in Boeblingen. Cody would be impressed, however Zack suspected Cody thought one-night stands were crass and irresponsible. London was probably the only woman his brother had ever been with. _Although if you land an heiress at sixteen_, Zack reflected,_ that's not necessarily a bad thing._

Cody set aside the newspaper. "I have a bunch of meetings today, but we'll go out somewhere tonight. Mr. Moseby is staying in town for an extra day."

"Cool." Zack pictured the three of them raising hell on the Sunset Strip, another scenario he couldn't have fathomed a couple of years ago.

"Just don't bring any night vision goggles."

It was Zack's turn to claim, "Dunno what you're talking about."

"And we can go to Santa Barbara tomorrow. Wilfrid wants me to check in on the Tipton vineyard."

"Awesome." So they would actually get to hang out for real this weekend. Cody had always been busy on their TMI travels, but it seemed a little strange that he'd suggested this trip when he didn't actually need any security services and had a packed schedule.

Cody turned his attention back to the mountain of newspapers, and Zack went into one of the bedrooms to get some more sleep. This was the second morning in a row he'd woken up on a sofa owned by his brother. He wasn't planning on making a habit of it.

[***]

Zack felt no awkwardness when Hannah Montana greeted him outside Urth Caffé with a hug and a peck on the cheek. Their night of passion, so to speak, had taken place literally in another world.

"I am _so_ glad to see you," she said as they sat down at a patio table. "I just cried my eyes out when I got the card about London and Cody's wedding being cancelled. I couldn't believe the sweet guy I'd eaten cake off, twice, was dead." Her smile became saucy. "But I sure was glad you'd at least had a good birthday."

Zack smiled back at her. "Yeah, thanks to you, Hannah." He raised his water glass and she clinked hers against it. Wearing another pair of gigantic sunglasses and her hair wrapped in a white scarf, she looked like a 50s pinup model. Her simple pink blouse and light blue jeans added to her hotness.

"Hey, we all need someone to help us sleep." Her berry-coloured lips closed around the straw in her glass.

_Not that we got much sleep that night_, he recalled.

"Not that I've been getting much sleep lately," she said with a laugh.

"So, how are married life and motherhood treating you?" he asked, taking the plunge. The tabloid headlines about her on-again relationship with Jake Ryan had been hard to miss.

"It's all good," she replied breezily. "I'm putting my career on hold for a year or so. Jake is already off filming another movie, but what can you do? Thank goodness for Nanny Roxy." She held up her video phone. "Here's Jake Jr., my little man."

Zack squinted at a reel of photos of a cute, dark-haired infant. "And how's your little sister?" he asked next.

Hannah swatted his arm. "Sweet niblets, you have a good memory. Shanna's doing great. And she just loves to sing. Look out world, here comes Shanna Montana." She laughed again, accentuating her sexy twang. "It's crazy that my kid has an aunt who's only a year older than him."

The server took their orders, and a pair of girls sat down at a nearby table. Within moments, one launched into a loud, whiny monologue.

"Typical LA girls," Hannah groaned. "Anyway, that's enough about me. How are you, Zack? What happened to you?"

Zack answered without missing a beat. "I had amnesia and became a painter." When he realized this contradicted her impression of his memory, he turned a jaunty grin on her. "Want a portrait done? I'm taking commissions."

"Sure, why not?" she replied tactfully. "Cool scar, by the way."

What chick didn't dig scars? Except for his almost sister-in-law, of course.

"We were sort of kind of like really dating," the girl lamented shrilly to her silent companion.

"Ugh, somebody sprinkled some drama queen in her oatmeal this morning." Hannah sighed.

Zack had no problem tuning out the superficial harpy, but the singer was beginning to look increasingly pained.

The server arrived with their meals and they lapsed into small talk. The tamales were the best Zack had ever tasted.

"He's like sick in the head," ranted the girl. "He's just not well. And then when he married that airhead..."

"OK, that's it," said Hannah and stood up. "I can't take this anymore. We are outta here!"

[***]

Along Melrose Avenue, they sauntered past trendy boutiques, fashionably dressed shoppers, and photo-snapping tourists. Zack stayed close to Hannah, ready to fend off anyone who recognized her.

"I got offered a part in the next _Debutante Debauchery_ movie," he said when they stopped outside Marc Jacobs.

"No way?" Hannah nudged him in the side, giggling. "You should totally take it."

Zack rolled his eyes at her. "Hey, you never know." He flexed his biceps at his reflection in the window. _Still too scrawny._ With the afternoon sun beating down, it was really too warm to be wearing a sweater. He considered buying a t-shirt, then changed his mind.

A block later, Hannah asked out of the blue, "Did you ever get back in touch with that girl—Bailey, wasn't it?"

Zack dragged his gaze away from the window display of a fancy electronics store. He wished he still had the Black Card. "I guess you don't forget anything either."

"Guess not." The determined smile indicated she wasn't going to drop the topic. Attempting not to sound too pathetic, Zack described his various efforts to track down his high school girlfriend.

Hannah took off her sunglasses after he'd related the disturbing discovery that not even a skilled corporate investigator could find Bailey. "So Bailey _is_ 'the one,' " she noted, somewhat triumphantly. The way her blue eyes bore into his suggested she understood him better than his own twin brother.

Her certainty annoyed him. So many of them could have been "the one"—Maddie, or Addison, or Britta or Heidi whom he'd been dating in Boeblingen before the Delta Force Operator Training Course consumed all his time. Or even Hannah herself, if only he'd been able to go to his brother's wedding. He felt a sinking in his heart and his defenses wavered. "She's not 'the one,' " he rectified. "She's 'the one who got away.'"

"Then you'll find her," said Hannah reassuringly. She pulled him into a hug, giving him a pang of déjà vu. She smelled fresh and flowery, and he let his chin rest on her shoulder for an extra second. There was no way he could tell Hannah the real reason he wanted to see Bailey.

"Hey, I have an idea," she said. "Didn't you say Bailey is a big Hannah fan?"

He nodded.

"She could be a member of the Official Hannah Montana Fan Club. I'll call my assistant Lola right now and get her to search the membership database." Hannah rooted around in her huge white bag.

"Cool, thanks." He kept his hands in his pockets while Hannah called Lola and hoped for the best. If the pockets had been looser, he would have tossed maturity aside and crossed his fingers.

[***]

A door slammed. Zack looked up to see darkness outside and realized hours must have flown by. He put the controller for his new Xbox 720 down on the sofa and peered over his shoulder. Cody was in the foyer, by himself and plainly in a bad mood.

"Where's Moseby?" Zack asked to break the ice.

"He had to fly back to Boston early. Tasha and Elijah came down with chicken pox and Ms. T couldn't cope." Cody hung his jacket over a chair, loosened his tie, and headed to the Imperial Suite's restaurant-sized bar. "The band we had lined up cancelled and I was stuck entertaining a bunch of Chinese investors with our senior legal counsel, Sean Silverstone's useless international accounts guy, and the latest Mrs. Tipton, equally useless."

"You could have called me." How insulting that Cody hadn't turned to him in what sounded like an hour of need. He shut off the Xbox. "You know me, I'm great with strangers."

"Zack, it was all business stuff. You would have been bored out of your head." Cody flung himself onto the sofa with a bottle of Crown Royal whiskey and two shotglasses. "God, what a night. Anyway, how was your day?"

Zack accepted a shot, although he didn't really like Crown Royal, or whiskey in general. "Pretty good," he said. "Just hung out in West L.A., then came back here and played video games. I'm up to level five on _Halo_ 10."

Cody set the bottle and his own shotglass on the coffee table. He looked down and Zack knew his brother was hiding something.

No point beating around the bush. "What's up, Cody?" he asked.

"I have to go into the LA office tomorrow," Cody said as he examined a spot on his shoe. "The St. Mark takeover hit another bump and Wilf called an emergency meeting for 9:00. Hopefully it won't last too long, so we can still go to Santa Barbara."

This didn't come as much of a surprise. "Whatever."

"But if the meeting runs overtime, you can always go to Disneyland or something."

_Disneyland?_ "If you knew you were going to be busy all weekend and didn't need me as a bodyguard, why did you even invite me here?" Zack grumbled. He hated sounding so sulky.

"So you could have a fun weekend in L.A." Cody eyed him directly. "Zack, I'm really sorry."

Zack decided his brother was being sincere. Maybe Cody hadn't meant to imply he should hang out at a kids' park while he himself obsessed over cocktail sticks and other crap with his Fortune 500 pals.

"So, I had lunch with Hannah Montana today," he said to steer the conversation in a completely different direction. "We hooked up while she was on a USO tour last summer, the day before our birthday. She ate cake off me in her private jet. It was _hot_."

Cody regarded him with a look of genuine admiration, exactly what Zack had hoped to see. "Awesome, man," he said. "That deserves another shot."

They clinked glasses and Zack gagged down the premium whiskey. It still tasted like radioactive paint thinner.

Cody put his feet on the table and rested his hands behind his head. Zack was just about to reach for the TV remote when his phone rang. Hannah's screen image gave him a perk of excitement.

It didn't last long. "Lola couldn't find Bailey in the fan club database," Hannah informed him sadly. "She searched all seven years on record. I'm really sorry, Zack."

"Don't worry about it," he told her briskly. "Thanks for trying."

"You'll find her," Hannah insisted. "Don't give up."

"Seriously, it's no big deal." The baby was crying and he didn't want to keep her. "I'll talk to you later." He ended the call and flipped the cover of the phone up, then down, tempted to throw it against the wall.

"What was that about?" Cody wanted to know.

Zack's first instinct was to say "Nothing," but he felt too deflated to lie to Cody. So he said, "Hannah's assistant couldn't find Bailey in the Hannah Montana fan club database."

When Cody didn't respond, he mentioned one more piece of news. "Woody and Addison emailed her last summer and told her I was dead. They used the same Hotmail email address I did and didn't hear anything back, so she probably didn't get it. But still, she might know." Why the hell was he bothering to tell Cody this? The whiskey was probably making him sentimental.

Cody exhaled noisily. "People change email addresses all the time, Zack." Now he seemed aggravated again. "Who uses the same email address they had back in high school?"

Zack couldn't bring himself to admit he still checked _cooler_twin93 at yahoo dot com_ on a regular basis. The whole weekend suddenly felt like a letdown, along with too much of the past three months. In frustration he punched a sofa cushion. "What do I have to do to find this woman?" he burst out. "Hire Dog the Bounty Hunter?"

"Maybe she doesn't want to be found." Cody got up from the sofa and went into the kitchen area.

"Yeah, could be." Zack hardly recognized his little brother's unsympathetic manner, yet had to concede Cody did have a point. But this possibility raised other concerns. "If Bailey had to change her identity to escape an abusive ex, I'll hunt down the guy and make him sorry his parents ever exchanged that first look of lust." His hands balled into fists at the thought of some bastard threatening Bailey.

Cody whipped around to face him. "Zack, listen to me," he said, speaking slowly as if to a small child, a slow learner, or both. "Bailey is in the _past_. This is the _present_. It's time to move on. Maybe you should go to a counseling service for vets."

Zack did not care for this attitude. "What is your problem?" he bristled, letting his irritation show. _Cody always had a condescending side, but when did he become such an asshole?_ "Why do you get so weird every time I mention Bailey?"

"Because I'm sick of hearing you talk about her!" Cody fired back with unusual hostility. "Why do you want to see her again? Hasn't she derailed our lives enough?" He pushed a pile of newspapers off the counter and said the last thing Zack expected to hear. "I can't even believe I kissed her once."

Rage smoldered through Zack. He jumped to his feet, yelling, "How could you?" His fist drove into Cody's face, something it had never done before. "My own brother?"

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**A/N: Just add whiskey and stir up trouble... The ill-fated mistletoe kiss between Cody and Bailey occurred in Chapter 15 of **_**Just One of the Guys**_** during the Boxing Day Bash on the **_**S.S. Tipton**_**. I always love to hear from you guys, so please read and review. Much love from Ellie – Xoxoxo**


	19. Dude, That's Harsh

**A/N: The peanut M&Ms are especially for woundedhearts :)

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**Chapter 19: "Dude, That's Harsh"

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_I wanted more than this  
I needed more than this  
I deserve more than this  
But it just won't stop  
It just won't go away_

_Theory of a Deadman, "Santa Monica"_

[-]

Cody staggered into the marble counter top, yelling at the same time, "How could you? My own brother?" He landed on the floor, the epitome of insult added to injury.

Zack was silent, eyes blazing. He turned away toward the windows, his hands jammed into his pockets. The lights of Santa Monica Pier glittered through the curtains.

_Enough is enough_. "It didn't mean anything," Cody retaliated. "I thought she was a guy at the time." There was no such thing as "down and out" in his world anymore. He was a multi-millionaire innovation leader, through with letting people push him around—especially Zack. With as much dignity as he could muster, Cody got to his feet, took his shotglass and the bottle of Crown Royal from the table, and stalked into the nearest bathroom. After shutting the door and locking it, he sat on the edge of the vast bathtub and thought about Bailey Pickett.

He'd always assumed he and Zack were too different to fall for the same girl. Yet it had happened those first few months at sea school. In spite of her three identities—as a ghetto farmboy, a Texan named Holly Toledo, and her real self—he'd understood the book-smart farm girl from Kansas. Unbeknownst to Zack, he had also dated her, after she and Zack had let their secret relationship implode. But as usual, he had to be the nice guy, had to let Zack have his own way, regardless of the undeniable connection between himself and Bailey. Pushing aside his emotions, he convinced Bailey to give his brother another chance. Like a salesperson, he quoted Shakespeare and lines from _Casablanca_, still fresh in his mind from the late-night screening on Christmas Day. For all her protesting it had been easy to see she felt the same way about Zack as they both felt about her. Even tonight, the memory of hearing their New Year's "celebration" made him cringe, although it had driven him back to London's cabin door, to the start of something new and wonderful.

Cody poured another shot of whiskey and swallowed, feeling it burn all the way down his throat. His plan had worked out for everyone. Except that it hadn't. Zack had been banished to military school just one month later when another Really Bad Plan ended in disaster, exactly as Cody had known it would. He and Zack had never been apart before, and they'd been growing further apart ever since.

As for Bailey, he was amazed Zack had managed to keep a long distance relationship going for a year and a half—until Bailey dumped him unceremoniously by phone the summer after senior year. Only Cody knew how much Bailey's desertion had devastated Zack. Now that he finally had his brother back, he was _not_ going to let her disrupt their lives again. Something terrible had happened to Zack, he could feel it, and he would do whatever he could to protect Zack from getting hurt. To top it off, his relationship with London—the best part of meeting Bailey Pickett—had become another aspect of his life that he'd begun to question.

A rattle at the bathroom door interfered with his reflections. "Cody, open the door."

_Zack, who else?_ Cody wanted to stew longer. He was the wounded party after all, and his jaw ached to prove it. However, staying mad at Zack was the one thing he'd never been able to do, plus he didn't feel like paying for a kicked-in door. Reluctantly Cody stood up and turned the lock. "What?" he demanded.

Zack stood there, looking remorseful. He held out a slab of frozen steak wrapped in a shower cap. "I got room service to bring this up. Dude, buddy, I'm so sorry."

Cody took the steak roughly and sat back down. He wasn't going to give in that easily. "That girl is trouble," he said sullenly, pressing the steak to his face. "If she hadn't been your roommate at Seven Seas High, you wouldn't have been sent away to military school. And if she hadn't broken up with you after high school, maybe you could have done something else with your life." He'd wanted to say this for ages, haunted by a line from the movie _The Men Who Stare at Goats_: "I decided to do what every man does when he has his heart broken... go to war."

Zack sat next to him on the bathtub edge. "Like what?" he asked sharply. "Gone back to the Paul Revere Mini-Mart until you could get me a grunt job at Tipton Industries, I mean Tipton _Martin_ Industries? I deserve more than that. As much as being sent to Landon Academy sucked at first, it helped me find something I'm actually good at."

Cody had expected excuses and apologies, but not this. "You're good at lots of stuff," he objected. "Sports, girls, making friends. Way better than I've ever been."

"I mean something that pays the bills, legally." Zack twisted a towel between his hands as he spoke. "I was a high school screw-up, and we both know it. Bailey was the only one who believed in me. She made me feel like a hero, long before I joined the military. But I would have joined with or without her. It was the first time I could be my own person, and not just the loser brother of straight-A student Cody Martin, turned rich executive, engaged to an heiress—the one everyone always knew would succeed." He threw the towel across the bathroom.

Cody let the words sink in, penetrating his angry thoughts, now muddled by the Crown Royal. He'd never meant to overshadow his gregarious, risk-taking twin, hadn't even thought it possible. Cody had just done his best with the skills he had and this is how the cards had fallen. Had he inadvertently caused this inferiority complex? Could he really have played a role in Zack's disappearance? Such questions had never crossed his mind. _Should they have?_ he wondered. The dejected look on his brother's face told him all the answers.

"Zack, I'm sorry," he said honestly. "I never knew you felt that way. I guess I've been pretty self-centred." Cody put the steak down in the bathtub and held out his arms.

When Zack hugged him he couldn't stop the tears. "I missed you so much," he said shakily.

"I missed you, too, bro." Zack patted his back. "I thought of you everyday while I was away."

"I kept telling everyone you were alive and they just thought I was in denial." Cody sniffled, overcome with memories. "But inside, I had to wonder, what if I was wrong? What if our twin telepathy was always just a figment of our imaginations and I was never going to see you again?"

Zack put his hands on Cody's shoulders and looked into straight into his eyes. "But you weren't wrong, and that's what matters," he said.

Their regular dynamic was already reasserting itself, with Zack comforting him rather than the other way around. Maybe some things would never change. The business persona he'd tried to maintain had cracked the moment he'd opened the bathroom door. Now it was completely gone. Cody leaned against his brother and reached for the steak.

"I totally lost it after we got the news last July," he confessed. "When Mom and Dad put together a wake at the hotel, with a pie-throwing contest as requested in your will..."

"I still can't believe they actually did it," Zack interrupted, snickering. "I'm impressed."

"I just took off, basically jilted London at the altar." A swarm of embarrassing images arose, but Cody was determined to tell this story. It was the only way to let go. "I went down to New York, to the Village, because you can be anyone you want there. One night I entered a karaoke contest just for the hell of it. A couple of nights later, I performed some lounge tunes as Tyreesha Jones, complete with a blonde wig, drag costume, makeup. It was kind of fun."

Zack poured himself a shot. "Dude, that's harsh," he commented. "But I could see it."

Cody felt too drained to glare. "I stayed at a little hotel on Waverly Place, playing chess in Washington Square Park during the day and clubs at night. I even found a bunch of clothes for Tyreesha's wardrobe at a vintage store called Zachary's Smile." More tears slipped out. "What a coincidence, huh?"

Zack just looked at him and moved the whiskey bottle away with his foot.

"Anyway," Cody continued, feeling braver, "after a few weeks of living a double life, and telling London I was on a top-secret, emergency business trip, I knew I had to be responsible again."

"I'll bet you almost went home with a dude, didn't you?"

The query prompted an unwanted flashback of numerous glasses of wine purchased for him by a handsome man, followed by a moment of indecision. "No," he responded a little too quickly, grateful that Zack couldn't see his face.

Zack snickered again.

Readjusting the steak, Cody persevered. "I went home to Boston and started the Foundation. And London took me back, even though she didn't have to after the way I humiliated her. But we're still stalled. I'm not sure we're in the same place anymore, to be totally honest."

"So that's my story," he concluded. The steak was thawing and his jaw throbbed, making it difficult to talk. "What happened to you after the helicopter crash?" he asked. "You can tell me, Zack. I know you're trying to protect me, but I think you need to talk about it." He felt his brother take a several deep breaths. Would his openness would pay off?

"OK," Zack said at last. "But wait a sec." He got up and went into the suite. A few moments later he returned with the complimentary Tipton fruit basket.

Realizing he was hungry, Cody selected a banana. _It's ironic how we're both second bananas_, he thought as he chewed gingerly.

"So you really thought Bailey was a guy?" Zack asked after taking a seat on the bathtub edge again.

Cody nodded. "Worst kiss ever." The rest of the truth was unimportant.

"OK then." Zack ripped open a package of peanut M&Ms, poured a mound into his hand, and began to speak.

* * *

**A/N: The emotional reader response to Cody giving up Bailey in Chapter 17 of Just **_**One of the Guys**_** prompted me to consider how he really felt about that difficult decision. This chapter, as well as much of this story, was influenced by the SLOD episode "Goin' Bananas" in which Zack admits that he's always felt overshadowed by Cody. The NYC locations mentioned are all in Greenwich Village. Cody stayed at Washington Square Hotel and Zachary's Smile is a real store. Thanks as always for your amazing, inspiring review, you guys! Xoxoxo – Ellie**

**P.S. The verse from "Don't Stop Believin' " beginning with "A singer in a smoky room" in Chapter 11 answered the question of what Cody did when he disappeared after the fake wake.**


	20. Famous for My Hooch

**Disclaimer: The Ultranationalists belong to **_**Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare **_**and**_** Modern Warfare 2**_**. **

**Extra Disclaimer: Don't try any of this at home, kids.

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**Chapter 20:** **"Famous for My Hooch"

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"It was a dark and stormy night," Zack intoned in a mysterious voice, his eyebrows rising.

Cody was sure even three shots of Crown Royal couldn't disable his twin bullshit detector. "You're making this up," he accused. "Just like that yak herding crap."

Zack glanced at the ceiling with weary sigh. "Just shut up and listen."

Cody obeyed, but wondered what malarkey he might hear next.

"I can't tell you the details of the mission I was on–" Zack restarted.

"That's OK," Cody broke in. "I know you've killed people. You don't have to worry that I'll look at you differently. It was your job, I understand that."

"Cody, seriously, shut up. My job isn't about killing people. Sometimes it does happen, and that's always unfortunate, but I don't feel bad about it." Zack sat up a little straighter, fidgeting with another towel from the pile next to the bathtub.

"Sorry," said Cody meekly.

"As I was saying," Zack continued, "I can't tell you about the mission and anyway, you already know how it ended. But these are the guys who didn't make it." He pulled up his left sweater sleeve and Cody stared at the column of names tattooed on his brother's forearm. The only one he recognized was Tommy Delgado.

"Tommy was your best friend," he said numbly. "You talked about him all the time." He'd never met Tommy in person, but remembered his wisecracking, Zack-like demeanor from several video phone conversations.

Zack touched his wrist. The small gesture ripped into Cody's heart, making him regret feeling jealous of his brother's close friendship with Tommy.

"We were on our first mission as Delta Force operators."

The revelation stunned Cody. "You never told me you were in Delta Force." His scant knowledge of the counter-terrorist unit came from watching the movie _Black Hawk Down_ on late-night cable during eighth grade. It had given him nightmares for weeks.

"I still haven't. It's classified," said Zack. "The other five guys were also Delta operators, plus two pilots, two co-pilots, and one crew chief."

The names blurred. "So how did you survive?" Cody ventured.

"I fell out of the back of our helicopter. The last thing I remember is Tommy screaming my name and grabbing onto my dog tags. Then his face disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flames." Zack paused. "I woke up in the back of a truck on a pile of cotton bundles. My head hurt, I felt like shit, and there was a gun in my face.

"As far as I could tell, I'd landed in a flatbed truck owned by a cotton farmer. The family fled from the nuclear fallout in the truck and was intercepted by a band of Ultranationalists close to the nearest border. They grabbed me, blindfolded me, threw me in another vehicle, probably a Jeep, and took off. When I woke up next, I was on the floor of a concrete room about the size of our coat closet at the Tipton, the one you tried to move into. I was sick from radiation exposure and figured they'd left me there to die.

"But I guess they wanted to keep me alive long enough to find out who I was, so eventually I got an IV and some antibiotics. And then the questions started. They wanted to know my name, what I was doing there, was I part of the Joint Forces strike or some kind of spy."

"What did you tell them?" Inside, Cody was thinking, _Oh my God, I can't believe you had to go through all through this_.

"Nothing."

"Did they, um, did they torture you?" Cody asked, though he feared the answer.

"No, Cody, they tickled me." Zack's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "And when they were in a really good mood, they chained me to a wall and tickled me some more."

Horror prickled down the back of Cody's neck. He looked at the gilt-edged bathroom tiles. When he'd said "I think you need to talk about it" what he'd really meant was "I feel like you're a stranger and I want to understand you again." Now all he felt was guilt over badgering his brother into reliving this hideous experience.

"Look, you don't have to tell me anything else," he said, laying his hand on Zack's shoulder. "We can just call it a night, OK?"

"I may as well finish the story," said Zack. A cheeky smile lightened his forlorn expression. He shrugged Cody's hand away. "I haven't got to the good parts yet."

* * *

**AUGUST 2018**

It wasn't even a real prison, but an old cotton-processing factory, abandoned when excess irrigation from the Aral Sea dwindled the Central Asian region's cotton-growing industry. Now it served as a holding tank for political activists, religious extremists and other nemeses of the Ultranationalists. These details Zack gleaned from conversations between the Russian-speaking guards who patrolled the hall outside his cell and dragged him to the interrogation room every three to four days. He had a basic grasp of Russian from Special Forces training, an ability he intended to keep to himself for as long as strategically necessary.

Being a factory, the concrete building was not constructed to trap people inside, but to facilitate removal of materials. Zack filed this valuable detail in his mental cabinet labeled "Escape Plan." Army protocol dictated he had to escape, or die trying.

As soon as the shock wore off and radiation sickness passed, he began to memorize and catalogue every feature of his new surroundings—the walls of his cell, the hall, the interrogation room, the mountain peaks visible from the enclosed yard where guards occasionally escorted him. The air outside was warm, meaning it was still summer. Discreet glances at the guards' watches helped him keep track of the hours as they ebbed into days, then weeks. Aside from the Ultranationalist interrogators, the guards were the only people he saw, never any other prisoners, but he often heard muffled voices and screams.

"What is your name?" the Principal would rasp in heavily accented English each time they faced each other in the windowless, beige-walled interrogation room, a larger, cleaner version of his cell. The dark-haired, forty-something man glowered at him, dressed in a black general's uniform, flanked by three cronies.

"I don't know," responded Zack. A guard gripped him on either side. Their hands tightened around his arms like vises whenever he spoke. He would never reveal his identity to these bandits. It was the first rule of captivity.

"What are you doing here?" roared the Principal. "We already know you're a U.S. Marine from your tattoo. How dare you set foot on our land? You don't belong here, dirty American scum." A blob of tobacco-tinged spittle landed just below Zack's right eye and he compelled himself not to blink.

"I don't know," he said blankly, over and over again, to whatever question or insult the Principal hurled at him. Lessons drilled into him during extensive captivity training guided every action. _Make them think you're nobody. Let them feel sorry for you. Don't tell them anything they can use against you, or your family._ The soundtrack played constantly. _The enemy can sniff out any psychological vulnerability and exploit it ruthlessly. Don't let the enemy in. _The amnesia cover would buy him some time, but not an indefinite amount.

[***]

One day in particular reminded Zack of this grim fact. The Principal worked himself into a frenzy and the cronies turned on him viciously.

Curled at their feet, knees to his chest, Zack heard his ribs cracking under the steel-toed kicks and pretended the screams of agony came from somewhere else. Fireworks exploded behind his eyes. One more assault would puncture a lung or possibly his diaphragm.

Apparently the Principal had also had enough. He barked a dismissal at the two guards. They dragged him like a sack of potatoes down the hall toward the cell, complaining bitterly to each other about the lack of alcohol in the region due to religious conventions. The door slammed shut and the fat iron bolt slotted into place with resounding, metallic thud.

Zack lay still on the cold floor of the cell, unwilling to divert any energy away from his body's natural impulse to heal. Once again the last moments of Operation Scorpion Strike invaded his mind like a horror movie on an endless loop. Tommy screamed his name, hands flying out, then smoke and flames obliterated everything.

Interspersed were random snapshots from the past, of pranking Moseby mercilessly, flirting with Maddie at the candy counter, crashing the Universal Mini Miss Beauty Pageant with Cody just after they moved to the Tipton. _Cody, you know I'm not dead, right? _Sometimes he had to force himself not to think of Cody, for fear he would break down completely. Other times, he trained his thoughts deliberately on Cody, knowing his little brother needed him to stay optimistic and strong so that he could escape.

Paws scuttling overhead brought the four dingy walls back into focus. Meat was a source of protein, and protein would help him recover faster. With a match and something to burn, he could turn his daily cup of rice into a poor man's ratatouille. _Mmmm, yum._ Cody's reproachful face floated in front of him. His brother doted on every living creature. A hawk had once built a nest on London's penthouse balcony and Cody had lobbied hard for the bird to stay, even threatening to call Mr. Tipton if Moseby evacuated it.

"You don't have the nerve," Moseby had sneered, to which Zack had retorted, "We climbed 10 stories up a laundry chute. We got nothing _but_ nerve."

As he smiled weakly at the memory, a low, lazy voice murmured in his ear, "Did I ever tell you about my hooch?"

Zack looked up to see a man leaning over him. He wore a green Tipton bellhop uniform, its gold buttons gleaming in the dimness. A round cap perched atop his bushy, funky 'fro.

"Moseby?" Zack managed through the searing pain in his chest.

The youthful Moseby gave a slight shake of his head and put his hands on his hips. "Not many people know this about me, Zackary," he said, sounding both laid-back and paternal, "but I used to be famous for my hooch. I learned the recipe from my grandfather. Moonshine Marion, they called him back in the Dry Twenties."

"No way?" Prim, uptight Moseby had a background in bootlegging?

"All you have to do is put some fruit and some moldy bread in a sock," instructed Moseby. "Then you put the sock in a plastic bag, and you leave it in a bucket of water for about a month. Presto, you got yourself some fine-tastin' hooch."

The former hotel manager squatted close to Zack, a wide confident smile on his face. "Trust me, Zackary," he uttered. A blink later he was gone.

Cody had always mocked Zack's plans, and Zack couldn't deny that many of them had gone badly. But a plan endorsed by Moseby himself, well, even Cody would support that. And Zack had a plan now, something to live for. Into the dank, musty air, he whispered his favourite threat, "Duhn, duhn, duhn..."

[***]

It started with a second of eye contact when the guard brought his rice mush and tin cup of rusty water the next morning. Every other morning Zack added another second to this fledgling rapport. The guard was only about 19 or 20 years old, obviously a recent recruit to the Ultranationalists, likely from some impoverished village in a former Soviet republic.

At the next interrogation, while the guard stood beside him, Zack revealed a single piece of information. "I don't know anything, just that my Uncle Moseby knew how to make good booze."

The door remained open after he'd been shoved into the cell. In broken English, the younger man asked, "You, mystery man, you know what your uncle knows?" His pale blue eyes said _I want to trust you_.

"Maybe," said Zack in equally broken Russian, letting his gaze dart to the left. "But what's in it for me?"

"What you want?" the guard grunted.

"A walk outside?" Zack suggested, choosing wishful thinking first.

The guard simply laughed. "How dumb you think me?"

"Well, then, how about fewer beatings?" _Can't hurt to ask, ha ha._

Zack caught a glimmer of pity in the guard's eyes. "Can't do anything there for you, beating is up to boss."

"Then some extra food, and clean water maybe?" Zack hedged.

"I see what I can do," said the guard gruffly.

Satisfied with this response, Zack shared Moonshine Marion's special recipe. His next "meal" arrived with a handful of dried apricots.

[***]

The moment he'd been planning for came sooner than he expected it to. Zack was sitting at the far wall of the cell, head down, elbows resting on the knees of his dirty fatigues, when a voice snarled at the grate above the door, "Did not work. You lie to me, mystery man."

Zack replied with the answer he'd rehearsed. "I am very sorry to hear that, but it's an art, my friend, like cooking. Unless you have the right balance, you just get vinegar."

The guard grumbled a stream of obscenities in Russian. "If it's so easy," he finished, "why don't I just have you make it?"

_Bingo._ A slow grin curved Zack's lips and he raised his head slightly. Across the tiny room, a young, hip Moseby grinned back at him.

"Sure, man," said Zack. "If that's how you want it done."

He blinked and Moseby vanished.

_To be continued.

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**A/N: Young, hip Mr. Moseby appeared in the early SLOZAC episode "The Ghost of 613." Special thanks to Waldojeffers for help with identifying the touching SLOZAC episode "The Birdman of Boston." Please read and review, guys (but don't you be making any prison wine, OK?). Much thanks and I wish you all an inspiring, writing-filled 2010. Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	21. It Was a Dark and Starry Night

**A/N: This chapter answers a certain question (finally).

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**Chapter 21: "It Was a Dark and Starry Night"

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**OCTOBER 2018**

Of the few career paths Zack had contemplated, factory-prison bootlegger wasn't one of them, despite Cody's teasing predictions that he'd end up in San Quentin. Then again, Zack had never contemplated becoming a prisoner of war, either. None of the guys in his various units had imagined such a fate. They'd all seen themselves as invincible, even when listening to veterans relate harrowing tales from Vietnam, Iraq, or Afghanistan.

_Tommy, I won't let you down_, Zack vowed as he sniffed the concoction of moldy bread crusts and crushed raspberries fermenting in a bucket of water in his cell. _I'll make it out of here and prove to you that I deserved to survive. Your sacrifice won't be in vain, bro._

"You taste first," ordered the young, blond-haired guard whom Zack had come to know as Vlad, when he declared the first batch ready.

Zack had expected this test. Obediently, he swallowed a mouthful of the pungent, reddish liquid. "It's very strong," he spluttered, feeling his eyes cross.

Vlad dipped a tin cup into the bucket. "We will see." He gulped down the sample, watched by another guard, who stood by the door, pointing an AK-47 directly at Zack.

"Is good," Vlad choked out. He cleared his throat. "Strong is very good."

"_Spasibo_," said Zack in his humblest voice. The plan was working.

[***]

With this crucial hurdle conquered, Zack devoted all of his faculties to developing an escape plan. His mind raced through the details he'd accumulated, incubating, and illuminating, until he could sketch a map of the factory in his mind. Then he revised it, scrapped it, and sketched again. What his parents and teachers had denounced as nosiness had helped ensure the success of many, many secret missions. He was the one his teammates relied on to figure out every contingency.

Most importantly he sought to uncover the patterns underlying the factory-prison's operations. He took note of when Vlad wore a clean uniform, counted the days between supplements to his meager rations and pressed his ear to the grimy walls, listening for anything that sounded like a vehicle, preferably a transport vehicle. The rats he heard scurrying at all times had to indicate a massive air vent system. Given that the factory was out of use, its furnaces weren't running at full capacity. Thus, he could travel safely in the vents, if need be.

During the scarce minutes he was permitted into the small enclosed yard, he looked clandestinely to the north where the mountains lay. He guessed they were the westernmost peaks of the Pamir Range that sprawled across Central Asia. Inevitable dangers lurked there—drug and human traffickers, rogue police, bears, landslides. But it would be better to face an uncertain death in the wild than a certain one in prison. Once he reached the comparative "safety" of the mountains, he would have to find his way to a city with a U.S. embassy or air base.

[***]

**NOVEMBER 2018**

An influx of new prisoners from a local uprising poured into the prison in mid-November. The interrogations and beatings decreased in frequency. Still there were no laurels to rest on. If the Ultranationalists lost interest in him, they could free up his cell by auctioning him off. The highest bidder, Zack feared, might employ more barbaric torture methods.

More prisoners also meant a greater risk of tuberculosis or diphtheria, plus smaller rations. Without the dried fruit and gristly lumps of unidentifiable meat that irregularly accompanied his daily rice bowl, Zack knew he'd never have the strength to execute any kind of escape. Even with these extras, the increasing lightheadedness and sickly odour of his breath were signs his body was digesting its own muscle mass to stay alive.

[***]

"Mystery man, we have special order," Vlad informed him one afternoon when he and Alexei picked up the latest batch for the guards to enjoy. Alexei entered the cell with him, AK-47 hanging at his side.

Zack looked cordially at his guests, adhering vigilantly to another lesson from captivity training. _Politeness is a tactic, not a surrender._ "What can I do for you?"

"We need big, big drink for Christmas. January 7, different from your Christmas." Vlad replied. "You can do?"

"Yes, of course." Zack smiled carefully. "But I will need some matches and wood," he half-lied. "Now that the air is colder in here, it slows down the process."

Vlad exchanged an uneasy glance with Alexei, who grunted something in Russian. "No problem," Vlad responded then. An approximation of a smile registered on his youthful face.

Under other circumstances, Vlad and Alexei could have been Zack's buddies or comrades. He'd met many youngsters like these two in the military. They weren't bad guys, just guys with few prospects, trying to make a living however they could. Crappy wine was probably all they had to look forward to in this terrorist enclave in a remote region of Central Asia. They were nearly as cut off from the rest of the world as Zack himself was.

In the morning, Vlad dropped off a box of matches and a mound of wood scraps. Zack divided the scraps into two piles. Reluctantly, he took to roasting those rats who were brave enough to scamper into his cell. _Sorry for making fun of your cooking, Mom_, he thought as he rotated the tiny, skinned bodies over a feeble flame. _I'd kill for one of your rock-hard muffins right about now—literally, ha ha._ He laughed and told his growling stomach it was getting chicken wings for dinner. His stomach didn't buy the ruse, but meat was nourishment, and it would have to do.

As the weeks lagged on and the end of the year grew nearer, the countdown began.

[***]

**TUESDAY, DECEMBER 25, 2018**

"Merry Christmas, Zack!"

Zack's eyelids snapped up to the unbelievable sight of 12-year-old Cody, in a baggy red sweatshirt and green cargo pants, bouncing in a corner of the cell.

"Codester, buddy!" Zack squashed his little brother in a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm gonna help you break out," Cody announced.

"You are?" Zack hung onto him, afraid Cody would disappear if he let go.

"Of course, I know every inch of this hotel," Cody said proudly.

"Factory," Zack corrected him.

"Whatever. Now let go of me, I can't breathe." He wriggled from Zack's grasp, pinching his nose. "You reek."

If his brain was playing another trick on him, Zack didn't care. Just seeing Cody again made December 25, 2018 feel like the best day ever.

"Hey, you'll never guess what," he said, eager to shock Cody.

"What?"

"Moseby's grandfather was a bootlegger!"

"Well, duh." Cody rolled his eyes as though Zack were as goofy as Tapeworm. "Don't you remember Mr. Moseby telling Mom about Moonshine Marion at that wine-tasting event? After he'd had one too many tastes?"

Zack felt a tug deep inside his memory. "Oh, right." So he'd known about Moonshine Marion after all.

Cody inspected the bucket where the "big, big drink" was busy fermenting. "This is some cool lab you've got here, Zack," he appraised in his science geek voice. His eyes travelled to a dark fuzzy patch on the wall. "And some fine specimens of _Pseudopsylliolactobacter_."

"You know," he added conspiratorially, "if you put that in the wine, it'll make people sick. They'll even pass out."

Zack scraped some more mold into the bucket with a woodchip. "That's the plan," he said.

[***]

Having someone around to talk to helped the next two weeks pass by more quickly. Cody came and went as he pleased, but he usually returned to the cell at night. With his little brother huddled close to him on the cement floor, Zack found he could finally sleep instead of being jarred awake at regular intervals by muscle cramps and Tommy's screams ringing in his head. He woke feeling positive and almost relaxed.

Whenever Vlad and Alexei came to the cell to monitor the progress of their party goods, Cody hid behind the door. The moment they were gone, he leapt out again.

"I don't like them," Cody complained after one such visit. "They're meaner than Drew at school."

Zack shrugged. "They're OK."

[***]

**MONDAY, JANUARY 7, 2019**

Zero hour arrived when the door swung open that evening. Vlad strode in, while Alexei stayed outside to keep watch. Cody ducked out of sight, and Zack greeted the guard with a broad, disarming smile.

"As promised," he said, handing over the full bucket. "_S Roždestvom Khristovym_."

Vlad took the bucket. "_Spasibo_." He turned to leave.

"Wait," Zack spoke up, his eyes seeking out Vlad's. "A toast?" he offered casually. His heart thumped an erratic beat as he waited to see if Vlad would fall into the trap. If he didn't, 2019 would be a very short year.

The pale eyes softened. Again sympathy betrayed the younger man's tough exterior. "All right."

He opened the door and murmured to Alexei, who stepped inside and closed the door. The two guards scooped their cups into the bucket and raised them. "_Budem zdorovy_," they said to each other, glancing only sideways at Zack. Then, as Zack watched them, holding his breath, they tipped their heads back and swallowed.

The gagging began immediately. Alexei lurched toward Zack, his dark brown eyes ablaze with fury and sudden understanding. Zack seized the AK-47 and rammed the butt into the side of Alexei's face as hard as he could. Knocked out cold, the guard slid into a heap on the floor.

Zack flipped the assault rifle, jamming the butt into his right shoulder, and aimed it at Vlad. Before he could bring the gun to bear on the guard, he felt a sharp singe of pain. A blade sliced into his right eyebrow down to the tip of his cheek.

"_K chortu_," Vlad slurred in a tone of hatred, fumbling for the handgun in his pocket. It was too late for more damage to be done. Vlad swayed for an instant, then keeled over. The blood-stained combat knife dropped from his fingers.

Zack nudged the crumpled body with his toe. No movement.

_Checkmate_.

Cody stepped out of the corner. He was trembling. Anxiously he asked, "Zack, are you OK?"

"Don't worry, buddy, I'm fine," Zack reassured him. Blood was trickling down his cheek. The cut wasn't deep enough to need stitches, not that he access to stitches anyway, but it would leave a scar. He wished his little brother hadn't had to see this display of violence. But in a kill-or-be-killed situation, there was no choice—and now, no time to lose. At least Vlad and Alexei weren't actually dead, just unconscious. They'd recover in a couple of hours.

Working swiftly, Zack switched his filthy fatigues and combat boots for Vlad's navy uniform and polished black boots. He pushed Alexei behind the door and tore a strip from the man's undershirt to tie around his head. With Vlad's cap pushed low, the make-shift bandage would stay hidden. He strapped on the guard's cheap digital watch, wiped off the combat knife, and trimmed the worst of the scraggly prison beard he'd grown. _No sense looking like a typical fugitive. _Then he dragged the blond-haired guard into the middle of the cell and covered him with the threadbare blanket. All the while, Cody kept a look-out at the door.

Lastly Zack picked up Alexei's AK-47, cocked back the firing bolt and took out the clip so he could see how many bullets it contained. _A full clip. Sweet._ He replaced the clip and slid the bolt noiselessly back into place. His hands fitted naturally around the handle of the assault rifle. Holding a loaded weapon again gave him a tremendous psychological boost. He no longer had to pretend to be weak and helpless. Training the AK-47 on the inert guard with his right hand, he patted Alexei's jacket and trouser pockets for extra clips and found one more. _Awesome._

It was almost 1930. Any minute the other guards might notice the absence of Vlad, Alexei, and the much-anticipated wine.

Cody poked his head out the door. "I think it's all clear," he said.

"_Das vidanya_," Zack whispered to the guards and turned his back on the barren, foul-smelling cell where he'd spent the past six months. He didn't need to take a final look for posterity. He locked the door with Vlad's key and proceeded down the hall in the opposite direction of the interrogation room, keeping both his head and the AK-47 bent low.

_One foot. Then the other. Eyes straight ahead. Do _not_ screw this up._

Cody ran ahead, checking for movement in Zack's peripheral vision. Nobody appeared.

When they reached the vent at the end of the hall, Zack popped the screws off the cover with a few deft twists of the knife.

Cody scrambled inside. "C'mon, it's clear," he hissed.

Zack crawled into the duct, leaned the cover against the opening, and they set off together as they had countless times before. Except tonight they weren't trying to sneak into a celebrity wedding or catch a con artist in action. They were heading for the loading bay of a factory-prison. There was no turning back.

The only sound Zack could hear as he belly-crawled in near-darkness, elbows rubbing against the sides of the vent, was the deafening tempo of his heartbeat. He thanked whatever lucky stars he had left that these vents were of the old-fashioned steel variety and would block any noise they made. Too bad nothing could block the stench of sweat and rat droppings.

Cody stayed a few feet in front, and Zack found that he was oddly OK with Cody taking the lead. Usually Zack was the one who launched crazy schemes, but Cody had a knack for getting him out of trouble when the shit had really hit the fan. And tonight Zack could not afford to make a single mistake.

When they reached the first T-junction, Zack's internal map told him they needed to take a right, inch along for 100 feet, and then hang a left. This would hopefully bring them to the loading bay.

At the end of the last tunnel, their only choice was to go left. About 20 feet later Zack saw a faint stripe of light. He discovered that it was a vent, high on a wall, which opened onto a shadowy area with a huge overhanging roof. Beyond it he could see the factory gates. _Yes! The loading bay. _

An ancient army truck covered in a dark green tarp was parked nearby. Eight guards were unloading crates from the truck and carrying them through large double doors, into the factory. Zack caught fragments of various Middle Eastern languages. Shortly, the guards returned with white sacks, which they dumped by the rear of the truck. A man climbed into the driver's seat.

It was the signal he'd been waiting for. Zack slithered backward and, as quietly as possible, eased the cover he'd felt and lowered himself, feet first, into what he deduced was a supply closet. Next he grabbed Cody by the legs, pulled him gently through, and set him on the floor. The closet contained a pile of soiled laundry sacks. He took one. "OK, hop in," he said.

"Awww, do I have to?" Cody whined, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

"Yes," Zack told him. "Unless you want me to die."

"Fine," sighed Cody and crawled into the sack.

Zack creaked the door open a sliver and counted each man as he walked by. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight._ Counting steadied his nerves. As soon as he heard the truck's engine rumble, he hefted the sack over his shoulder and walked quickly through the double doors. He whistled loudly with his fingers and raised his free hand. "One more!" he called out in Russian.

Into the open back of the truck went the sack with Cody in it. Zack looked furtively to his left and right. Again, all clear. He hoisted himself up and burrowed under the jumble of sacks, praying he hadn't missed a ninth guard prowling in the shadows. If he'd been spotted, it was game over.

The wheels began to move. A muffled voice asked, "Are we there yet?"

"Shut up," Zack whispered through gritted teeth.

He didn't breathe again until the gates were behind them. The truck rumbled onto what seemed to be a dirt utility road. Zack sensed a couple of turns. Soon the vehicle picked up speed, coasting on a smooth, decently paved road.

At least an hour passed before the truck suddenly stopped. Zack peeked out, the first movement he'd made since burying himself in the laundry.

The driver stood by the side of the road in a wide stance, whistling.

_Now or never._

He crept up behind the man stealthily and pressed the handgun, another souvenir from Vlad, to the back of his head. "On your knees," he commanded in Russian.

The driver froze and dropped to his knees. Zack pushed the driver's head to the ground. "Don't move until I'm gone. Understand?"

"_Da_," he whimpered in badly accented Russian.

Pointing the gun firmly at the terrified man, Zack backed toward the open door and jumped into the driver's seat. He put the truck in gear and floored the gas pedal.

The truck roared into motion and tore off down the wide empty road. Adrenaline kept Zack's foot clamped to the pedal as snow-covered fields rolled by and crisp winter air seeped in, stinging his throat and nostrils. His innate compass told him he was driving north, oriented by the moon still in the eastern half of the cloudless, star-pierced sky. Adrenaline also blanked any pain from the gash on his forehead. The bleeding had stopped.

_See, Tommy, I told you I could do it_. Zack allowed himself a brief moment of pride. _I know this isn't over yet, not by a long shot, but I won't give up._

Several miles later he drove through a small town. A clump of shabbily dressed people stood by an intersection. When he glanced into the rearview mirror, a short figure in a red sweatshirt waved to him from the edge of the crowd.

Zack waved back to his little brother and drove on into the night, feeling a surge of hope.

_To be continued.

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**A/N: So now you know how Zack got the scar on his forehead. Will there be smooth sailing from here on? Stay tuned for Chapter 22. Special thanks to tiger002 for wise suggestions, and to Waldojeffers for the reminder to include other characters in this arc. "Politeness is a tactic, not a surrender**_**" **_**is quoted from p. 100 of **_**In The Company of Heroes**_** by Michael J. Durant.**

**P.S. Bonus points for all of you who recognized the reference in Chapter 20 to Hooch, the popular crazy character Phill Lewis played on **_**Scrubs**_**. Just a little joke to lighten a sadder chapter.**

**Translations (apologies for any errors):**

_**Spasibo**_** – Thank you**

_**S Roždestvom Khristovym**_** – Merry Christmas**

_**Budem zdorovy – **_**Cheers**

_**K chortu – **_**a curse**

_**Das vidanya – **_**Good-bye**

_**Da**__**–**_** Yes**


	22. I Have Something to Tell You

**A/N: Huge thanks to everyone who voted in the Suite Life Awards. I'm so honoured to win for best embarrassing moment, Zack pairing, other pairing, romance, comedy, and series, and to tie with the amazing and talented Lodylodylody for best author. Thanks for the support, guys! I'm smiling as I type this :)

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**Chapter 22: "I Have Something to Tell You"

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"See, I'm always there for you," said Cody, chewing on his lip to hold back the onrush of tears. He knew Zack would shut down if he became too emotional. Christmas without Zack had been heart-wrenching, and knowing he'd been with his brother in spirit made him smile. And the idea of his 12-year-old self leading Zack to freedom in the middle of the night, somewhere in Central Asia, gave him both chills and a warm, fuzzy feeling.

"So then what happened?" he asked. If his brother had escaped from the Ultranationalists in early January, why had he not returned to Boston until the end of June?

Zack lay with his head on the pile of towels, one foot propped against the other knee, his eyes fixed on the mirrored bathroom ceiling. Their far-off glaze worried Cody. Compassion overrode his curiosity, and he wondered again if they should call it a night. Zack had been talking for two hours already. He could tell the rest of the story on the drive to Santa Barbara.

But after a lengthy silence, Zack resumed with, "The next couple of months were like an episode of that wilderness TV show, you know, with that guy?"

"That guy?" Cody rarely had time to watch television.

"You know, that British dude..." Zack's face scrunched up. "What the hell is his name... Sheep Brews? Koala Broils? Barracuda Grate?"

Cody had a brainflash. "You mean Bear Grylls?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

Watching two episodes of the outdoor survival series on Discovery Channel had been more than enough for Cody's squeamish stomach. "Did you have to drink your own–?" he asked apprehensively.

"No," Zack cut in.

* * *

**JANUARY−FEBRUARY 2019**

Zack wasn't overly dismayed when the army truck issued a dying groan and creaked to a halt in the foothills. It was almost dawn. He flicked the gas dial with his fingers and it slid from half-full to empty. _Just as well_, he decided. As an American soldier carrying stolen identity papers that linked him to the Ultranationalists, he stood no chance of making it past the first vehicle checkpoint on the road to Dushanbe. The capital of Tajikistan, located in the western-central part of the country, had a U.S. embassy. If caught, most likely he'd be thrown into a federal prison, branded an enemy of the state. From the earliest stages of his escape plan, he'd known he would have to complete this phase of "Operation Get Home" on foot. What mattered most was that nobody had caught up with him as of yet, and he still had all the ammo he'd escaped with.

Luckily the truck provided some critical supplies—a winter coat, a small first aid kit, a lighter (_thank you for smoking, Mr. Driver_), water bottles, and a bag of hard candies that he discovered in the glove compartment. Zack plundered every possible useful item and stuffed a few of the least soiled blankets into a sack. Cloaked by the final hour of darkness on the morning of January 8, 2019, he abandoned the truck and headed for the mountains, with the AK-47 slung over his shoulder.

_Piece of cake_, Zack encouraged himself as the terrain grew rougher and yellow light paled the eastern horizon. _Just keep an eye on the road, stay northeast and you'll get to the city in a couple of weeks. Three weeks tops._

[***]

Trekking through the Pamirs brought him back to the Stress Phase of the Delta Force selection process. For over 16 hours, he'd navigated from rendezvous point to rendezvous point in the Bavarian Alps to prove he could handle himself in the wilderness without losing his direction or his wits, all while carrying a 75-pound rucksack. To drop out would have been to concede he was not Delta material. Zack had pushed onward doggedly, taxing his physical and mental endurance to their furthest limits. By the time he reached the last rendezvous point, where he was rewarded with a cup of soup and the news that he'd passed, thus earning a place in Delta Force, he'd been woozy from overfatigue. Not until Tommy had trotted up to the same rendezvous point, 10 minutes later, had the reality of their accomplishment sunk in.

He would have liked to stop and enjoy the mountain vistas now and then, but even more than that, he wanted to live. In such a rural area, inhabitants would be naturally suspicious of outsiders and any unusual activity. With the ever-present threat of drug smugglers and secret militia, night was the only safe period to travel. Every second afforded him precious coverage as he followed rocky paths that snaked above the road which wound through the valleys. At times, the road was nothing more than a bumpy track. During the days, he slept under outcroppings, inside caves, and for one tense day, after spotting a group of hunters, inside an old, unused mine. Their shouts and bursts of gunfire had completely disconcerted him. He knew he wasn't in fighting form and didn't want to accidentally shoot any innocent farmers.

On the brighter side, the winter seemed mild compared to what he'd prepared himself for mentally. He was able to find enough grubs, berries, and marmots, both plentiful and much tastier than rats, to stem the ketosis that had begun in prison. Mountains streams kept his water bottles full. If he lost sight of the road, he could follow a stream until it connected to a river. A river would always lead to civilization.

[***]

They looked so inviting, those mud-brick houses nestled on the hillside. A handful of windows were even lit, though it was late at night. Zack stared at the enticing flickers, like a moth drawn to a flame.

The usual chorus of possibilities played havoc with his judgment. _Would it be worth it to knock on a door, ask for something hot to eat, a bed to sleep in for the day?_ He hadn't talked to anyone since the great escape. He was starving for human contact, just as he was for a real meal.

Each village inspired these temptations, but the risk of being turned over to the authorities never felt worth it. Not when he'd come so far. Not when he was so close to his destination.

Tonight was no exception. He turned his back on the village and dug his heels into the path. It led upward, winding and steep, dusted by light from a half-moon. If he climbed much further, he would have to deal with altitude sickness as well.

He should have seen road signs for Dushanbe by now. He was quite certain he was still going northeast, anchored by the sun's reliable rising and setting, but not as quickly as he needed to. A scratch at the back of his throat had deteriorated into a chest-rattling cough. The days were bleeding into each other, all the peaks looked identical. How many weeks had he been on the run? Three? Four? Definitely not more than five. He couldn't recall and not knowing bothered him greatly.

[***]

Another coughing fit raked his lungs and he fell onto his knees, the sack flopping on the ground. Fear prevented him from straining to check the snow for drops of blood. If he'd contracted tuberculosis in prison, he was doomed. But he couldn't allow this possibility to fester in his mind. Every fraction of his attention span had to concentrate on survival. And right now that meant staying warm. He had to keep moving to generate body heat and find shelter before daylight stripped away his last defenses.

_Fucking loser_,_ you should have tried the village_, he chastised himself. _Rotting in prison would be better than this_. For a sudden, inexplicable moment he missed Vlad and Alexei as much as he missed Cody, Tommy, and his parents.

First light was breaking when the dark blot came into his line of vision. It grew larger and larger as he approached. His ebbing morale warned that the cave was probably an Ultranationalist hideout or a bear's den. Any minute now he would be riddled with bullets or mauled to death. The only question was, which would he prefer?

He picked up a pebble and tossed it into the mouth of the cave to spook any animals. Tommy would have run in fearlessly, waving his arms and howling like a banshee.

Nothing happened.

With the AK-47 aimed in front of him, he took one cautious step forward, then a second, struggling not to cough. He expected the worst.

Again, nothing happened.

His eyes adjusted as he explored and he gave himself permission to relax. He sat down and was immediately overcome with pain. His legs were burning, his feet blistered raw. The sack, which contained mainly kindling and blankets, felt heavier than a 75-pound rucksack. The relentless exertion was destroying his body. How much longer could he go on?

A more urgent concern was how much water to drink. His temples throbbed with a feverish headache, a sign that he needed water desperately. He only had one full bottle, and by sundown he might be too weak to search for a stream. In the end he swallowed only a few mouthfuls.

Avoiding hypothermia was the next priority. Cold was oozing into all of his pores, further sapping his energy, and his hands were shaking so badly he dropped the lighter several times before he got a fire going. Loath to eat the remaining scraps of marmot meat, he sucked a lemon candy, too exhausted to feel a sugar rush.

There was little else he could do for comfort, so he rolled himself up in the blankets and, clutching the AK-47 to his chest, wished for sleep to come quickly.

[***]

It started with a strong waft of pineapples and hay. Then, like an angel, she glided toward him in a sheer, flowing gown. Bailey. Her movements were soft and languid. A golden glow followed her as her bare feet skimmed over the stone floor, the gown swirling around her knees, her brown hair rippling. She spread her arms wide, twirling her wrists gracefully, and her eyes met his, fleetingly but long enough to make his pulse skitter.

As she danced, she sang with a melodious twang:

_Smooth talkin', so rockin'  
He's got everything that a girl's wantin'  
Guitar cutie, he plays it groovy  
And I can't keep myself from doin' somethin' stupid_

_Think I'm really fallin' for his smile  
Yeah, butterflies when he says my name  
Hey!_

Zack watched her, smiling helplessly.

_He's got somethin' special  
He's got somethin' special  
And when he's lookin' at me  
I wanna get all sentimental_

_He's got somethin' special  
He's got somethin' special  
I can hardly breathe somethin's tellin' me  
Tellin' me maybe he could be the one_

She lay down beside him, her gown falling open to reveal her smooth, creamy skin. Her fingertips stroked his cheek lightly, tenderly. "I have something to tell you," she said in a honey-sweet voice.

"Yeah?" he asked, intoxicated by her nearness.

"It's really important," she pressed. Her breath warmed his whole body.

"What is it, babe?" A spasm of longing shook him. He ached to hold her again. If only he could move his arms.

She leaned closer. The pineapple scent of her hair, draping over his shoulder, suffused him with a memory of summer sunshine, freshly cut hay, care-free promises. Their faces were only inches apart, and he was melting under that brown-eyed gaze, so trusting and full of desire. "Zack..." Her lips parted for a kiss.

Abruptly, like a cruel joke, her face contorted and her voice mutated into a loud, coarse "_Moooooo..."_

Zack opened his eyes to grayness. He was soaked in sweat, shivering uncontrollably. The fire had gone out, reduced to a sad heap of ashes.

"Babe?" he called into the gloom, his breath puffing out from his numb, chapped lips.

No answer. He closed his eyes, wondering if she might appear again. A black expanse taunted him. When he opened them, all he could see were shadows and a puddle of daylight at the mouth of the cave. His morale flatlined with a sickening crash. Tears began to prick the corners of his eyes. He was going to die out here. Now he was sure of it.

_Mooooooo..._

The same unearthly sound fractured the stillness.

_What the hell...?_ Mustering all the strength he had left, Zack pushed to his feet and staggered toward the light to investigate, gripping the AK-47 as tightly as his stiff fingers could manage.

A yak stood a couple of yards away. The hairy brown beast had big placid eyes and an oblivious air.

Breakfast. Dinner. Salvation.

His hands moved on autopilot to pull back the firing pin and make sure it was loaded.

_Click._

Very slowly Zack turned his head. He was staring down the barrel of another AK-47. It was difficult to tell who was shaking more, himself or the boy holding the assault rifle.

Everything started to spin. Darkness fell.

_To be continued.

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**A/N: Special thanks to iCarlyFanFreek825 whose reviews inspired this chapter. Once again, the lyrics are from the ever-catchy Hannah Montana song "He Could Be the One" that also appeared in Chapter 16 of **_**Just One of the Guys**_**, Chapter 3 of **_**Repercussions: Part 1**_**, and in Chapter 4 of this story. I'm hoping to be able to update faster in a couple of weeks. Please read and review, guys. Love to all. Xoxoxo – Ellie.**


	23. A Promise

**A/N: This chapter answers another question about Zack's mysterious year after the helicopter accident.

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**Chapter 23: A Promise

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The jabbering sounds rose and dipped.

Zack fought to separate them into individual strands. Were they voices, or noises in general? And if they were voices, were they friendly or hostile?

As he struggled, the chaotic thrum receded and an eerie sense of calm came over him. One breath later, a knife-like pain shot through his side and sent him spinning into free fall, as though he'd jumped from a plane with a malfunctioning parachute. He expected to panic, but instead he was grateful to feel nothing at all.

[***]

Something cold touched his lips. His instincts told him it was metallic. A gun, he assumed. Again he expected to panic, but this time a sweet-tasting liquid dribbled down the back of his throat. A strange, pungent smell brought on a wave of nausea and his insides heaved. The same sharp pain jabbed with sudden ferocity. He wanted to open his eyes, yet what should have been a simple effort only worsened the agony.

Another sound filtered through the clutter of sensations, soothing and indistinct, like a murmur or a soft chanting. He felt a soft touch on his forehead. Gradually the pain eased, and sleep pulled him under into a dark, quiet void.

[***]

_Everything went white... _

"_Zack!" screamed Tommy, trying clutch onto Zack's camouflage shirt. The material slipped through Tommy's fingers and they closed around Zack's dog tags. The chain broke apart in his hand. The last thing Zack saw was Tommy's face disappearing in a cloud of smoke and flames as the two helicopters floundered toward the ground..._

Zack found himself blinking at white walls and a shaft of sunlight. His throat felt sawdust-dry, his chest tight and sore. Reflexively he groped for the AK-47, but got hold of only a handful of woolly red blanket. Fear gripped him. The echoed screams continued, and he realized they actually sounded like children playing. He relaxed. Still disoriented, he tried to sit up and collapsed onto a pillow as pain ricocheted through the circuits in his cerebral cortex. Everything swam into a haze.

_Shit, that kid with the AK-47..._ Gingerly he ran his hands over his torso. Relieved to find no extra holes, and nothing missing elsewhere, except his own AK-47, he tried to figure out where he was. He was wrapped in blankets, lying on a thin mattress in a room not much larger than the cell at the factory-prison. And rather than Vlad's navy uniform, he was wearing baggy grey pajamas.

If he wanted answers, he would have to leave the room to get them. Pulling the red blanket around him, he managed to get to his feet. Dizziness swept over him, but he stayed upright, keeping his hand pressed to the wall. A very short hallway led to another door. He opened it cautiously onto a scene so surreal it could have been a movie set for a Central Asian remake of _The Sound of Music_.

A group of children were rolling large round rocks down a grassy plateau, laughing and shouting. Were they _lawn bowling_? A man and woman in their late thirties sat on wooden stools watching the game. The sky stretched overhead in a clear, cloudless blue. The sun high in the centre, framed by picturesque snow-capped peaks. Wherever he was, it was noon and the temperature had warmed up considerably.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at Zack. He recognized one of the children as the rifle-wielder. The boy froze when he spotted Zack.

The man noticed Zack in the doorway and smiled broadly. "Hello, hello, so you're up now?" he said in Persian-accented English, striding over to Zack. He wore a black toque, an Adidas sports jacket and brown work trousers, and had a closely trimmed black beard that covered the bottom half of his tanned face.

The surreal-ness deepened. The entire situation reminded Zack of the classic nightmare of showing up naked at school. He half-wondered if he'd wake up all over again.

The man was standing in front of Zack now. "Come sit, you must be hungry," he said and took hold of Zack's elbow.

Zack seated himself on the vacant stool and received a metal bowl of what looked like soup from the woman. Her gold headscarf, lavishly embroidered green dress and warm, benevolent smile implied she was the matriarch. A large, steaming crockpot sat at her slippered feet.

"Thank you," he croaked. The soup was hot and contained a mixture of meat and vegetables. He hadn't eaten tomatoes or potatoes in so long that their flavours were virtually foreign to his tastebuds. His mind whirled with questions. _Who...? Where...? What the...?_

Several moments passed, then the man attempted conversation again. "My name is Abdul Nazarov. This is my wife, Ayana, and our children, Shararah and Farshad, and their cousins Jahander, Darya, Anoosheh, Rozi, and Kamran." Each family member waved in turn. Zack waved to them weakly.

Abdul issued an instruction in Persian and the children resumed their game, glancing sporadically at Zack.

"So, you have American Marines tattoo, Kazakhstani identity papers and peculiar blue uniform. Who are you really?" The black eyes glittered inquisitively and Zack knew he'd have to start talking. At least the kindness in Abdul's face suggested he wasn't about to whip out a gun.

Thus, Zack considered the identity question carefully and settled for, "What answer will get me in the least amount of trouble?"

At this, Abdul erupted into laughter and slapped him heartily on the back. "Ah, an American sense of humour." The slap caused Zack to choke on a mouthful of soup.

"Look, I appreciate your generosity," he wheezed. "But I really shouldn't be here. It's not safe for you, or your family."

"Do not be worrying, every visitor is a gift from Allah. And you are quite safe. Nobody comes into this valley." Abdul gestured to Rifle Boy. "Farshad, come here. He is very sorry he almost shoot you. Aren't you, Farshad?"

The child shuffled forward, eyes glued to his scruffy sneakers. Abdul spoke to him in a low stern voice. A guilty look crossed his face, one that Zack himself had worn frequently at that age.

He grinned at Farshad and reached up to muss his hair. Tommy and the other guys would have never let him hear the end of it if he'd actually been shot by an eight-year-old.

Farshad smiled shyly, then ran back to the lawn bowlers.

"What do I call you, if not Vladimir?" Abdul asked.

"Zack," he replied. "Sergeant Zack Martin, U.S. Army." It felt strange to introduce himself after so many months of anonymity.

"And what are you doing all the way out here?"

"Where exactly is here?"

"Fann Mountains, close to Uzbekistan. Good thing you didn't step on any landmines around the border left from civil war."

None of this sounded familiar. "I was trying to get to the U.S. embassy in Dushanbe. Is that anywhere near here?"

"Not quite." Abdul chuckled. "How did you come to the Fanns, my American friend? You run away from your men? Or go hunting?" He ladled more soup for Zack.

Satisfied he had nothing to fear from the Nazarov family, Zack gave an abbreviated version of his life since July 3, 2018, eliciting many astonished wolf whistles from Abdul. In return, Abdul explained that it was now late February and Zack had been at their home for a little over two weeks.

"We will get satellite phone," he stated, giving Zack a flare of optimism. "No cell phone access here. Bad rockslide damaged the tower. Not fixed yet. But we did have cell phone. Sadly yak ate it. Funny, it was the same yak you tried to shoot."

Zack had to laugh at this, but quickly doubled over coughing. The severe pain in his side resurged.

Adbul stood and motioned to Ayana. "You must rest now. You have very bad pneumonia."

A tall shapely girl, about 18 years old, stepped in front of Ayana and slipped her arm through Zack's. Two black ringlets peeked out from under her crimson head scarf and hung past her shoulders. Her eyes, a stunning shade of green, radiated concern as she and Abdul helped him back to the tiny room inside the white stone bungalow.

Drowsiness overcame Zack as soon as he climbed under the blankets. As he drifted to sleep, he felt another gentle touch on his forehead.

[***]

When Zack awoke next, Ayana brought him a thick slice of bread and a cup of warm tea that soothed his scratchy throat. Abdul soon joined him.

"I will be able to sell couple of yaks by the end of March, and then we can buy satellite phone," he said.

Zack couldn't hide his disappointment. "Any chance you could just get me closer to the capital?"

Abdul shook his head gravely. "I am sorry, my American friend. Without passport or visa, you are police target. And you are too sick to travel. We cannot take that risk."

_Well, there are worse things than being stranded here for a few extra weeks_, Zack decided. _Like being dead._

"So, uh, how's the yak herding going?" he inquired politely.

"Oh, I am not typical yak herder. They only live in High Pamirs," Abdul said. "I rent out my yaks to tourism companies. I used to work in cotton factories in the south. But Aral Sea began to dry up, so we move back to family home in Fanns. I bought yaks with savings, brought them all the way from Gorno-Badakhshan, near China. Here is much more scenic than High Pamirs and not as cold. Mountain-climbing season is longer. Beautiful scenery and yaks—what more could mountaineer want?"

Not inclined to argue with his host's logic, Zack asked, "How's business?"

"Was better before the damn Ultranationalists came to our country." Abdul shrugged and sipped from his own cup of tea. "Shit happens, as you Americans say. I would like to move to America. My dream is to open Quick-E Mart."

"Really?"

Abdul laughed jovially. "I am just messing with you. I do love those little yellow Simpsons."

[***]

**MARCH 2019**

The days fell into a new pattern as Zack's convalescence progressed and he waited for Abdul to raise the money for a satellite phone. He particularly looked forward to playing chess with Farshad in the evenings, once the boy had finished his homework. Employing strategy and cunning in a non–life or death situation was a refreshing change of pace.

Shararah became another bright spot in his sluggish routine. Abdul's daughter clearly delighted in looking after him, and she took to bringing him most of his meals. He made sure to lie flat against his pillow when she entered his room so that she would lean over him to plump it up. She smelled pleasantly like sandalwood. While she spoon-fed him various stews and soups, he treated her to his best puppy-dog eyes, enjoying the view of her cherry-red lips, high sculpted cheek bones, and the modest necklines of her hand-sewn dresses. She also spent hours reading to him from various Persian novels. Though he hadn't the faintest notion what the stories were about, she had a lilting musical voice that was relaxing to listen to.

"Tell me more of you," she said one afternoon, setting her book down on her lap. Her painstaking words reflected her efforts to learn more English. "Do you have brother or sister?"

"I have one brother, Cody," he replied, speaking slowly for her benefit. "We're twins. He looks just like me." To elaborate, he added, "I'm 10 minutes older."

She twirled a ringlet between her long, slim fingers. "You miss?"

"Yeah." It had been nine months since the army would have told his family that he'd been killed in action. Even if Cody thought he was still alive, and Zack suspected that he did, Cody would be having a very hard time, especially if everyone else believed he was dead. Being an executive at a multinational corporation didn't change the fact that Cody had an emotionally fragile side. Was London capable of being supportive? He sincerely hoped so. And he wondered how his mom and dad were coping. His chest tightened. He lowered his eyes, fiddling with a tassel on the red blanket.

"Poor, poor soldier," crooned Shararah and drew her stool closer to the bed. "You go home soon." She laid her hand over his, and because he could hear the mournful note in her voice, he gave her fingers a small squeeze.

Shararah's tan cheeks flushed as pink as her headscarf. She picked up the book and started to read again. Every few pages she darted a coy smile over the top of the pages.

Zack smiled at her until her words lulled him into a blissfully dream-free sleep.

* * *

"Damnit, is there any country on earth where women don't throw themselves at you?" Cody grumbled.

Grinning, Zack took a bite from an apple. "Nope."

Cody slouched against the bathtub. His back muscles demanded chiropractic attention and the steak, which had thawed, was dripping all over his shirt and tie. Zack sat up and Cody took a towel from the pile. He held it to his jaw, wincing at the bruise. In less than six hours he had an emergency meeting with Wilfrid Tipton and Sean Silverstone. How was he going to face them? And, more importantly, how the hell could Zack just stumble upon a hot new girl in the rural mountains of Tajikistan?

_Stop it_, he admonished. _Zack could have died. So what if girls hit on him everywhere he goes?_ Forcing the grumpiness from his tone, he asked, "What happened then? Did Abdul get a satellite phone so you could call the army and get them to send a helicopter for you?"

"Well, not exactly..."

* * *

"My daughter seems to be very taking with you," Abdul said to Zack a couple of nights later, while they sat by the fireplace after dinner. "But if you be taking with her, I be taking away with your manhood. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," acknowledged Zack respectfully.

[***]

By the last week of March, Zack had recuperated from the bout of pneumonia and was able to help Ayana and Shararah around the house, and Abdul with the yak herd. He also started doing push-ups, crunches, lunges, and other basic exercises everyday to regain his strength. Since the accident in July, he'd lost about 40 pounds of muscle and body fat.

On March 31, Abdul delivered the long-awaited announcement that he'd sold three yaks to a businessman from Kyrgyzstan. "Tomorrow I will take my brother's car to Panjakent to get satellite phone," he declared.

Zack felt jubilant with relief. "Operation Get Home" was finally, _finally_, back on track.

His new family shared his joy. Farshad high-fived him, Ayana embraced him happily and Shararah put on a brave smile, although sadness shadowed her eyes. Whatever the Nazarovs wanted as a reward, Zack determined he would get it for them, no matter what the cost.

[***]

**MONDAY, APRIL 1, 2019**

The sun was just sinking below the craggy horizon when Abdul's 15-year-old nephew Kamran ran frantically up the dirt path from the village two valleys over. Zack was outside with Ayana, Farshad, and Shararah tending to the reduced yak herd. With fewer yaks, each one required additional care to ensure income over the summer tourist season. Zack had assured Abdul that the army would compensate him for providing life-saving assistance, but the unconventional yak herder just laughed.

Kamran had accompanied Abdul on the excursion to Panjakent. He shouted a horrifying story that even Zack, with his limited knowledge of Persian, could comprehend. Immediately after buying the satellite phone, Abdul had been seized for "suspicious activity" by a group of armed men. They strongly resembled Ultranationalists. Kamran, cowering in his father's car, had watched the whole incident and was lucky to have escaped. The poor boy was beside himself.

_Happy April Fool's Day._

That morning Zack had been on his way home. Five minutes ago, he'd been describing a Red Sox baseball game to Farshad as they brushed the yaks' coats and filled their buckets with fresh water from the nearby river. Now Boston wasn't even a priority. He'd brought disaster to the Nazarov family and on today, of all days, the universe had kicked him in the guts. On top of the scorching anger and shame, never before had he felt like such a fool. A despicable, unworthy fool.

Avoiding the family's stricken gazes, he knelt beside Farshad, who clung to Ayana, sobbing. "I'll find your dad, I promise," he vowed, patting the child's shaking shoulders.

Farshad began to howl, a wretched sound.

"I promise," Zack repeated to Farshad, and all of the Nazarovs.

_To be continued.

* * *

_

**A/N: Duhn, duhn, duhn... Special thanks to Reneyyy'Sprouse' for asking if yak herders would appear in the story. The inhabitants of this area of the Pamiro-Alay Range in western Tajikistan are known for being very hospitable. Abdul's line "every visitor is a gift from Allah" is from a traveller's blog. Not by coincidence, the Tajik name Shararah means "sparks or flames of fire." Apologies to any Persian-speaking readers for unrealistic English language errors. And apologies again for the slower update. Thanks for sticking with the story, guys. Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	24. Back in the Saddle

**A/N: We're back after a moving-related hiatus, during which some important research sources went missing in the chaos (but not the CP/BF, luckily).**

**Disclaimer: See below.

* * *

**

**Chapter 24: Back in the Saddle

* * *

**

_I'm back in the saddle again  
I'm riding, I'm loading up my pistol  
I'm riding, I really got a fistful  
I'm riding, I'm shining up my saddle  
I'm riding, this snake is gonna rattle_

_Aerosmith, "Back in the Saddle"_

[-]

**WEDNESDAY, APRIL 3, 2019**

It whispered into his consciousness so faintly that at first Zack assumed he'd imagined it, conjured up yet another incarnation of home. Again it punctured the pre-dawn stillness, slightly louder, reverberated from the cliff tops, reached the cave mouth where he sat, facing west, chewing a slice of Ayana's crusty bread.

To some, it was an ominous, foreboding sound. To Zack, it was the sound of faith, hope, and glory, all rolled into one.

* * *

"Was it a warbler? Or a corncrake?" Cody asked. He warmed to the subject. "The corncrake, indigenous to Europe and northern Asia, is widely recognized as the world's worst singer, though some people don't mind its repetitive, far-carrying _crex crex_ song."

"Cody, shut up."

Cody dismissed the request. "Before you tell me what the sound was, I think you skipped a part," he contended. "And you kind of rushed through the bit where you found out that Abdul had been kidnapped." Through Zack's descriptions, the quirky Tajik entrepreneur, the man who had saved his twin brother from starvation and illness, had become a living, breathing person to him. Now that he was fully immersed in the action, he didn't want Zack to gloss over significant details.

"It was really brave of you to take matters into your own hands," he plowed on. "But, still, wouldn't it have been safer to find a way to alert the authorities?"

Zack cocked a quizzical eyebrow at him. "Cody, I _am_ the authorities."

The realization humbled Cody and he looked away briefly. "My bad," he said. "So, what did you do after Kamran's terrible news?"

"I did what I had to do," Zack professed, his face solemn again.

* * *

Slowly Farshad twisted around to look at Zack. The anguish in his swollen eyes, rimmed by wet lashes, cut into Zack deeper than any wound that had been inflicted on him over the past nine months.

"Don't worry, buddy," he said, trying to convey how truly sorry he was. "I'm gonna find your father and bring him home."

A short silence followed as Farshad regarded him. Then he pushed Zack away with both arms and ran into the house, crying stormily.

_OK, I deserved that._ Zack had a flashback to Farshad pointing the AK-47 at him outside the cave. _Should've killed me when he had the chance._ But before his thoughts could begin a morbid spiral, he got to his feet. The sun had set, daylight was fading fast, and beating himself up wouldn't help anyone. _Dude, get a grip, _he commanded._ These assholes have made it personal now. But if you dwell on your emotions, Abdul could die, and that is NOT an option._

To Abdul's shaken wife, he said, "Ayana, please bring me my guns. And a compass, and water and food to last a few days. And extra ammo, if you can." His brain was already instinctually re-entering mission mindset, breaking down the task into individual steps. Serving in Special Forces gave new meaning to the term "duty calls." Over the years he'd rushed out in the middle of dates, missed friends' birthday parties, cancelled vacation plans, the moment his phone rang with a call about a mission. These sacrifices were all part of being a special operator. Tonight was no different.

Ayana gave a dazed nod, then hurried toward the house.

To Kamran, he said, "I need to know _exactly_ what happened today, every single detail you remember."

Kamran nodded vigorously. His English skills were fairly strong, which would be a big help.

To Shararah, who was standing beside a yak, weeping softly, he didn't know what to say. His heart turned over in his chest. He could not have envisioned causing the sweet country girl such grief. She set down her bucket and followed Ayana, sparing him temporarily from having to find the appropriate words to express his guilt.

Within a few minutes, Ayana and Shararah came out with his AK-47 and a shoulder bag stuffed with supplies. He made sure the knife and handgun were inside. Since he had to move quickly, there was no time for lengthy farewells, but he couldn't leave without reassuring them.

He placed his hand on Ayana's slight shoulder. "I will be back with Abdul, no matter how long it takes," he pledged. "You have my word."

She nodded stoically, eyes shiny with tears. "Be careful, Zack," she uttered in Persian. "May Allah be with you."

Meeting Shararah's gaze was painful, yet when he compelled himself to, he saw trust, tenderness, even understanding. It was clear she didn't blame him for the catastrophe. He took her hand, trying to smile comfortingly, and she brought her lips to his knuckles.

"May Allah be with you," she whispered, and he smiled to show his gratitude.

Giving a final wave to Shararah and Ayana, he started down the dirt path to Kamran's village. As tragic as the circumstances were, Zack could not deny that he felt energized by the challenges ahead. Adrenaline burned through his veins, the air hummed with an electrical charge. This was going to be his second mission as a Delta Force operator, an elite counter-terrorist soldier, trained for emergencies like this. He'd spent enough time fighting for his own life these last few months; now he was ready to fight for someone else's again.

Along the way, he bombarded Kamran with questions.

"How many men surrounded Abdul?"

"Five."

"What were they wearing?"

"Plain black clothes."

"What language did they speak?"

"Russian."

"When did the Ultranationalists first come to this part of the country?"

"Just after the bomb last year. There is rumour of them setting up training camp near the border in Uzbekistan."

"Where did you hear this rumour?"

"My friend in the next town over. He tell me."

"What is the best way to get to the border?"

"By the Tolvi Pass, but is very narrow and very dangerous." Zack remembered Abdul's mention of landmines in the area.

At the north end of the village, Zack asked a favour. "Can you lend me a donkey?" Kamran's father, Abdul's younger brother Safar, owned several donkeys. The pack animals were ideal for navigating treacherous mountain routes, and Zack needed to preserve his feet this time.

"Yes, of course." Kamran loped off into the dusk.

He returned shortly, carrying a small bag, leading not one but two donkeys. "Let me come with you," he urged. "I know region very well. And I want to help my uncle." His eyes pleaded with Zack to be taken seriously.

Zack looked over the reedy, black-haired youth, dressed in jeans and a grey World Cup 2014 sweatshirt, and weighed the offer. On the one hand, he couldn't live with himself if anything happened to Kamran. On the other hand, Kamran was a source of valuable knowledge—the type only a local could possess. _Always listen to the guy on the ground_. Lack of local knowledge was the main reason he'd failed to reach Dushanbe in the first place.

"All right," he consented. "But only as far the next town."

Kamran beamed proudly. "Thank you." Then he handed Zack a black toque from the bag. "Put this on. With that blond hair you stick out like, how you say, a sore thumb?"

"Smart thinking," said Zack, impressed, as he concealed his shoulder-length mop. Delta Force operators specialized in blending in with the local populace. It was why they kept longer hairstyles than regular soldiers. Clad in Abdul's well-worn clothes, which hung on his lanky frame, Zack was confident he could pass for an inconspicuous villager. The disguise would allow him to travel by day, essential for saving time.

As they rode toward the town, Zack continued to develop the situation. Kamran informed him that foreign men with guns had been seen there as recently as last week.

"I need to you to show me where," Zack requested once they reached the haphazard collection of streets spread at the base of a large mountain.

"There is house off to side, near centre of town."

"I want you to show me where it is, but we can't go down the main road. Just point it out to me. Then you have to leave."

Kamran nodded his assent. They tied the donkeys to a post, and Kamran began to lead him past rows of squat brick houses, with dimly lit windows. When they came to an alley, Kaman peeked around the first corner and pointed. "That is it there."

Zack saw a bland-looking white house with three curtained windows, about 250 feet away. It reminded him of the target building in Operation Scorpion Strike. "Are you sure?" he probed. A mistake could have fatal consequences.

"Yes, I am sure," Kamran said. "My friend live nearby."

Satisfied with this answer, Zack settled into the shadows to watch. He'd spent hours scoping out buildings such as these, but never on his own, without a highly trained team to provide cover. At the first sign of movement, he would have to send Kamran home. At least he was suitably armed and dangerous, with plenty of ammo leftover from the prison escape. Night vision goggles would have been a godsend, though.

Thirty minutes crawled by. He looked to the ground to rest his eyes for a necessary five minutes. He couldn't risk eye fatigue. He took a quick glance at his watch. It was almost 10:00 now and Kamran was still with him. The boy's parents might be worried sick already.

"I see something," whispered Kamran into his ear.

Zack discerned a faintly outlined figure behind a second-floor curtain. _Here we go_, he thought as the adrenaline rush kicked in. _It's show time._

"OK, Kamran, you must go home now," he ordered.

"Let me stay," the teenager said boldly. "I know how to use an AK-47." He fingered the handle of the assault rifle, Zack's most trusted companion once again.

Zack bit off the words, one at a time, in a commanding officer's voice. "Kamran, this is not a game. Go home _now_." The possibility that terrorist snipers had already spotted them flitted through his thoughts. He knew how to move undetectably, but Kamran didn't. "Think of your mother and father," he added sternly.

Kamran's features drooped, but the message had hit the right nerve. "Take care. I hope we will see you and my uncle again soon." He shook Zack's hand. "May Allah be with you."

"Thanks for everything, buddy." Zack clapped his other hand on Kamran's back to reinforce that he wasn't brushing him off. "See you soon."

Kamran slunk away in the direction from which they'd come, erased by the darkness almost immediately.

Relieved, Zack restored his undivided attention to the target house so that he could count movements through the windows. At best guess, three or four people were inside.

An hour and a half later, when his nerves were wired tightly with anticipation and his eyes were burning from straining in the gloom, the front door opened. A lone man walked out in a dark, non-descript clothes.

_Perfect._ Zack inched down the alley, keeping the man in his sight as soon as he reached the street. He began moving from house to house, following the man's direction. Judging from the casual swing of his stride, he was out for an evening stroll.

_Bad move, sucker. _

Three blocks later, the man turned down an alley.

Within five soundless seconds, Zack had ducked down the same alley, and in a fluid motion, he sped up and tackled the man from behind, knocking him to the ground. Then he banged the man's head into the dirt, guaranteed to stun him further, and dragged him by the shoulder into a narrow space between two derelict buildings. Zack pushed him upright against a wall, pulled out his handgun, and pointing it firmly at the man's head, slapped him across the face with his left hand.

The man stared groggily at him. He was bald and had a stocky build, a wispy goatee befitting his doughy, thug-like face.

Zack slapped him hard again, quickly jamming the gun to his forehead as the man started to lunge at him. He would not accept silence.

The man froze and his arms dropped, his wide-eyed expression belying his shock.

"English?" Zack rasped, gun steadily in place.

The man shook his head, as much as he was able to, a universal negative gesture. _Can't help you. Won't help you._

"Russian?" Zack asked next.

This time the man nodded, eyes moving inward to the gun. Zack could read his thoughts. _Shit, I'm going to die._ Exactly where Zack wanted him.

"Today in Panjakent some people went missing. Where did they go?" Zack used his most menacing tone, one with which people had greatly difficulty arguing.

The man shook his head. Zack registered an act of denial and twisted the gun, watching him shudder with pain and fear escalate in his now-darting eyes. He was making progress. "Ultranationalists?" he prompted.

"Don't know what you're talking ab–"

Zack removed the gun from the man's forehead and aimed it at his groin.

"I don't know anything about–" he stuttered.

_Click_. Zack pulled back the hammer with his thumb.

A mad look of fear drew back the muscles of the man's jaw, exposing of mouthful of crooked, tobacco-stained teeth and releasing a hot stale breath into Zack's face. His pupils dilated. He was visibly trying to calculate whether Zack was bluffing.

_I. Am. Not. Bluffing._

The sag of his heavy eyelids signalled defeat. "They're being taken for questioning," he muttered.

"Good man." Zack praised with simulated sincerity. _Politeness is a tactic, not a surrender_. The tenet of survival applied here, too. "Where?"

A moment of hesitation earned him another assault. Zack seized him by his neck, and drove the gun into the man's groin. "Where?" he growled through clenched teeth.

The man let out a pitiful whimper.

"Where?" Zack repeated. He delivered a deeper twist as though the man's quaking flesh were a cork and the gun a corkscrew.

"Factory in the south," the man bleated, choosing his manhood over his cohorts and their secrets.

And with that, Zack had all the intel he needed.

He eased the hammer back in, watched the man relax, then bashed his temple with the butt of the gun. _I could pound your head to a pulp. I could do it right now._ But such rage had to be quelled. He had to stay divorced from his emotions. Farshad, and the rest of the Nazarov family, were depending on him, and it was too early to start racking up a body count. Far too early.

There would be plenty of opportunity, plenty of need, for that later.

_Stay in control_, he reminded himself. _Don't let this get too personal. This guy is just a grunt anyway. _

Yet he couldn't leave the grunt out in the open, less than a quarter of a mile from the target house, bruised, demoralized, and itching for revenge. Whipping the shoelaces from the man's running shoes, he bound his hands and feet, then tore a swathe from his shirt to gag him. For the pièce de résistance, and to cover his tracks, he dragged him to a shed at the bottom of a yard across from the alley and shoved him inside.

The first stage of Operation Rescue Abdul was over. Time to retrieve the donkey.

It was waiting for him where he'd left it, munching leisurely on a patch of scrappy grass. Zack untied it and climbed on.

Nudging the donkey into a trot with his heels, heading south, Zack gave in to the impulse to smirk. _Man, Tommy would laugh if he knew I was riding off to battle on an ass. How's that for being back in the saddle?_

[***]

**WEDNESDAY, APRIL 3, 2019**

Zack bounded to his feet, mind racing, all senses on high alert. This was no delusion, no mixed-up memory.

Western bullets were flying in the valley below.

* * *

"But how could you tell they were Western?" Cody couldn't help interrupting.

"American and European rounds sound different than AK-47 rounds," Zack explained with surprising patience. "More of a ping to the AK's pong."

Cody absorbed this. "Oh, OK."

* * *

He heard another burst of fire, followed by the distinctive _k-k-k-kung_ of AK-47 rounds in response. Whoever the friendlies were, they were outnumbered.

The AK-47 was unslung from its permanent place over his shoulder, the two extra clips secured to his belt, the donkey tethered to a boulder inside the cave.

Zack began a fast hike down the rocky slope, keeping low, scanning for threats. A high ridge jutted from the mountainside, about 50 feet away. The gunfire grew louder, 5.56mm rounds mingling with 7.62mm rounds from AK-47s.

Since leaving Kamran two nights ago, he'd encountered only herders grazing their goats on remote pastures and the odd vehicle negotiating the narrow gravel roads. Nothing that signaled hostile activity. He estimated that he was within two miles of Uzbekistan, near the southern mountain ranges. Could there be trouble at the border?

As the ridge rose up ahead, he dropped to his stomach and crawled forward.

_What the hell is going on down there?_

First light was just peeking over the snowy pinnacles as the valley unrolled before him. In the pinkish haze, he located a truck, painted low visibility grey, in the middle of the road that curved along the bottom of the grassy valley. The truck wasn't moving. Behind it crouched six soldiers, their arms a blur as they fired what Zack guessed were M-4 assault rifles. At the same time, they were struggling to seek cover and taking heavy enemy fire on two sides.

At their nine o'clock, four men in black perched behind an outcropping, close enough for Zack to see the small orange fireballs exploding from their AK-47s. Across the valley, at the squad's two o'clock, three more men were doing the exact same thing.

Zack's brain hammered out an immediate situation report: _Friendlies travelling by night. Truck broke down just before first light. Ultranationalists spotted them. Now they're fucked. _

_And that guy down there is about to fire an RPG._

Zack needed an assault plan and fast. A well-aimed rocket-propelled grenade would take out most of the squad.

Stealthily he hopped over the ridge, ran a few paces, then dropped to one knee. He hadn't shot anything but marmots lately, but shooting was fortunately a lot like riding a bicycle. With practiced sharp-shooter precision, he raised his AK-47 and sprayed bullets into the four unsuspecting terrorists.

The assault rifle bucked against his shoulder as he moved it from target to target, one squeeze of the trigger per man. Every shot had to count. One misfire and the rescue would change into a suicide mission. Adrenaline made his heart pound and his brow sweat as he took each shot, but his eyes stayed clear, his hands steady.

The assailants jerked like mad puppets, then crumbled, amid cries of anger and alarm. Zack had just enough time to ensure all four had fallen before he had to run as fast he could, sliding into cover behind the rocks as bullets started to whiz past his head.

The other terrorists were aware of his presence now, and so were the squad. Zack didn't blame the squad for shooting at him. How were they to know his AK bullets were friendly fire?

As the hail of bullets persisted, Zack prised the RPG tube from the dead, bloodstained hands of the fourth terrorist and, flattened against the ground, maneuvered himself to the right-hand edge of the outcropping.

_Ready, aim, fire._ He yanked back the trigger in a swift, fluid motion.

The RPG zipped into the air, leaving a smoke trail. Seconds later a cloud engulfed the three other terrorists. The volume of bullets zinging at him decreased instantly. He'd killed at least one terrorist.

The machine gun roar accelerated from the valley, as the squad concentrated on silencing the remaining terrorists. The air rattled with bullets. These guys were professionals. They knew what they were doing. Zack emptied his own AK-47 into the fray to hold up his end of the unspoken bargain.

When the smoke and gun blasts cleared, there were no _k-k-k-kung_ rounds to be heard.

Zack exhaled a quick breath of relief. But he knew he wasn't out of the kill zone yet. The squad would be advancing on him next.

Still hunched behind the rocks, he pulled the pin from his AK-47 and threw the rifle on the ground in front of him, where the squad would be able to see it. Then he ripped a swathe from Abdul's cream-coloured shirt and waved it over the top of the rocks.

"Friendly, friendly!" he yelled out, his shrunken lungs rasping and straining from the effort. "American friendly, American friendly!"

From the corner of his right eye, he saw the squad marching up the slope. The six soldiers wore camo clothing and helmets, bullet-proof vests and uniformly menacing expressions_. _All of their weapons were trained in one direction. Him.

"Get down on your knees!" thundered a voice. "Hands behind your head!"

Zack obeyed, clasping his hands emphatically onto the back of his head. If he'd miscalculated, if they were actually mercenaries... well, it was too late to worry about that now.

Then he heard a different voice snarl in a thick Scottish brogue, dripping with intimidation, "And what makes you a friendly, boyo?"

Zack's first emotion was shock. "Soap?" he exclaimed as his neck jerked up automatically, eyes roving among the faces.

"Is a request or a greeting?" barked a third soldier. He had a broad Cockney accent and wore black sunglasses and a skull-patterned balaclava.

The burly captain, striding in the centre of the group, stopped short, four feet from where Zack crouched.

His eyes popped with bewilderment.

"Martin? Is that you?"

_To be continued.

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_

**Disclaimer: Captain Soap MacTavish, Ghost Riley, Task Force 141, and the Ultranationalists belong to **_**Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare**_** & **_**Modern Warfare 2**_**.**

**A/N: As you might have guessed by now, **_**Call of Duty 4**_** is one of the CP/BF's favourite video games. Apparently Dylan Sprouse is a big fan, too, so I'd like to think he'd approve of Zack's storyline in this tale. Extra special thanks to SilverTurtle for assistance with this chapter, and thanks to Tiger002 and Wyntirsno for additional inspiration, to Waldojeffers for ongoing support, and to everyone who sent me their favourite SLOZAC episodes. Again, apologies for the delay. I've been writing this arc chapter by chapter, but drafts for the chapters that follow it are mostly completed. Please read and review. (If you submitted a review to Chapter 24/Author Note, you may have to send a second review by PM 'cause the FF site only lets you review a chapter once.) You guys are so awesome! Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	25. Intermission

**A/N: I'm taking a page from Suite Life Award–winning authors Tiger002 and Kulmanari with this intermission chapter, leading up to the final arc. The song is the Smashing Pumpkins' classic "Disarm" from the 1993 album **_**Siamese Dream**_**.

* * *

**

**Intermission: Disarm

* * *

**

_Disarm you with a smile  
And cut you like you want me to  
Cut that little child  
Inside of me and such a part of you  
Ooh, the years burn  
Ooh, the years burn_

Zack allowed one side thought to infiltrate mission mode. If Cody could see me now. He knew Cody would be proud of him for doing his part to make the world a better place. Even pacifists like his brother had to realize that achieving or keeping peace meant taking out the bad guys—and no one did that better than Delta.

But Cody would never know about today's mission, nor would anyone else. On paper Zackary Martin was now a computer engineer for a military agency. The only activities he could reveal were unclassified and in the past, like the ones he'd told Hannah. The singer hadn't commented on his longer hairstyle or unmarked fatigues. To those in the know, these were telltale signs that he was part of the Delta unit, including the permanent callus on his firing hand. It was just as well he couldn't tell Cody about his new classified job. He didn't want his little brother to worry too much about him.

**Chapter 5: Too Easy? / Part 2

* * *

**

_I used to be a little boy  
So old in my shoes  
And what I choose is my choice  
What's a boy supposed to do?_

Mr. Moseby's dark eyes narrowed at him. "What about that hooligan brother of yours?" he inquired in a sinister tone. "Is he involved, too?"

Zack shook his head and replied, "No, he had nothing to do with this."

**Chapter 7: "Who Is Responsible for This?" / Part 1

* * *

**

_The killer in me is the killer in you  
My love  
I send this smile over to you_

Everything went white. Zack grabbed onto the overhead handle. When his sight cleared a little he tried to look for the city, but it had been replaced by a mushroom cloud rising in the distance and the shockwave coming up on them fast.

Time was slowing down, but there was no time to react, no time to panic. The Chinook rocked sideways as the shockwave hit, sending it careening into the Comanche escort. Out of the corner of his right eye Zack saw the blades of the Comanche rip into the body of the Chinook, then he felt himself tumbling backward.

"Zack!" screamed Tommy, trying clutch onto Zack's camouflage shirt. The material slipped through Tommy's fingers and they closed around Zack's dog tags. The chain broke apart in his hand. The last thing Zack saw was Tommy's face disappearing in a cloud of smoke and flames as the two helicopters floundered toward the ground.

**Chapter 5: Too Easy? / Part 2

* * *

**

_Disarm you with a smile  
And leave you like they left me here  
To wither in denial  
The bitterness of one who's left alone  
Ooh, the years burn  
Ooh, the years burn, burn, burn_

Zack grabbed his brother in a bear hug and lifted him off his feet. He'd never stopped expecting this reunion, not even for a second.

Cody pulled himself away, his eyes round with shock. "Is it really you?" he asked in a bewildered voice, "or is this what a stroke feels like?"

"No, buddy, it's really me." Zack rubbed his knuckles affectionately over Cody's neatly cut hair. He couldn't remember feeling happier in their entire 26 years.

Tears spilled down Cody's cheeks and he flung his arms around Zack. "I knew you weren't dead," he cried. "My twin telepathy was right all along."

**Chapter 10: "Today is Your Birthday, Not Halloween" / Part 2

* * *

**

_I used to be a little boy  
So old in my shoes  
And what I choose is my voice  
What's a boy supposed to do?_

"Remember that day you talked me into skipping school for the first time and I told you school would give me the tools to fight disease, war, and poverty?" he asked. "The same day I kissed that singer Matisse?"

Zack smirked like the obnoxious 13-year-old he'd been. "Didn't I also make fun of you for doing school work, homework, and weekend work?"

Cody ignored that part of the memory. "Anyway, TMI gives me bigger, better tools. The Foundation pretty much became my coping mechanism while you were away. I knew if I just kept doing my best to make the world a better place, you'd come home... And at the same time, other families, parents, brothers, sisters, partners might not have to go through such an ordeal."

"How's that working out for you?" Zack asked.

"Well, you're here aren't you?" he justified, pointing out the obvious.

**Chapter 15: "Just a Sappy Idealist" / Part 2

* * *

**

_The killer in me is the killer in you  
My love  
I send this smile over to you_

She lay down beside him, her gown falling open to reveal her smooth skin. Her fingertips stroked his cheek lightly, tenderly. "I have something to tell you," she said in a honey-sweet voice.

"Yeah?" he asked, intoxicated by her nearness.

"It's really important," she pressed. Her breath warmed his whole body.

"What is it, babe?"

**Chapter 22: "I Have Something to Tell You" / Part 2

* * *

**

_The killer in me is the killer in you  
Send this smile over to you_

_Tommy, I won't let you down_, Zack vowed as he sniffed the concoction of moldy bread crusts and crushed raspberries fermenting in a bucket of water in his cell. _I'll make it out of here and prove to you that I deserved to survive. Your sacrifice won't be in vain, bro._

**Chapter 21: It Was a Dark and Starry Night" / Part 2

* * *

**

_The killer in me is the killer in you  
Send this smile over to you_

"Merry Christmas, Zack!"

Zack's eyelids snapped up to the unbelievable sight of 11-year-old Cody, in a baggy red sweatshirt and green cargo pants, bouncing in a corner of the cell.

"Codester, buddy!" Zack squashed his little brother in a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm gonna help you break out," Cody announced.

**Chapter 21: "It Was a Dark and Starry Night" / Part 2

* * *

**

_The killer in me is the killer in you  
Send this smile over to you_

As he talked, he left out the parts he usually did—watching two of his buddies get blown to bits by a grenade during his first tour in Iraq, getting shot at by third-rate snipers in an African war zone, and countless minor injuries from rough terrain, flying shrapnel, and the occasional bullet. There was no need to relive these experiences.

_You just get on with it, _he reasoned._ That's what it's all about._

**Chapter 3: A Bright June Afternoon / Part 2

* * *

**

**A/N: Chapter 25 will be posted this week and Chapter 26 is already written, so you won't have to wait too long for that one. Thanks so much for all the reviews. Every single one makes me smile and is greatly appreciated. Sorry for being slightly behind with reviews, I promise to catch up! Happy Valentine's Day to all! You guys rock :) Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	26. Great Expectations

**A/N: Here, at long last, is Chapter 25—and it's actually the longest chapter I've ever written, which I hope will make up for this delay. Much thanks to Tiger002 for beta reading.**

**Disclaimer: Captain Soap MacTavish, Task Force 141 and the Ultranationalists belong to **_**Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare & Modern Warfare 2**_**.

* * *

**

**Chapter 25: Great Expectations

* * *

**

"Hey, Soap, how's it going?" Zack took off Kamran's toque and his shaggy hair fluttered around his face in the breeze.

The captain's eyes opened even wider, as though they might spring from their sockets. "Martin, it _is_ you!" He hauled Zack to his feet and into a bear hug, slapped his back hard to enough to dislocate both shoulders then pushed him away, holding him at arms' length. Suspiciously, he asked, "But how on Earth are you here? I heard you were KIA in Operation Scorpion Strike."

"Nah, I survived, through sheer dumb luck," Zack told him, puffing up with pride. He was flying on adrenaline from the shoot-out, astonished that the friendlies were bona fide friendly faces. Every Delta Force operator knew to expect the unexpected, but this reunion took the cake, the icing on top and the entire dessert buffet.

Soap continued to shake his head in wonder. "Whatever are you doing out here, in this God-forsaken land, Martin?"

"Trust me, Soap, it's a long story," he said with a laugh. By then the other five soldiers had surrounded them, buffeting him with back slaps and headlocks. It felt great to be just one of the guys again.

* * *

"Soap? What kind of name is Soap?" Cody asked. His eyes strayed to the bar of luxury exfoliating soap sitting by the gold-plated bathtub faucet.

"It's a just a nickname," Zack said. "His real name is John. Nobody really knows why he's called Soap."

"And you actually knew this guy?" The twists and turns of Zack's journey from Operation Scorpion Strike to Boston were starting to scramble Cody's brain.

"Soap MacTavish was the close quarter combat instructor in the Delta Force Operator Training Course," Zack replied. "He used to be a sergeant in the British Special Air Service and now he's captain of Task Force 141, a multinational UN special operations force, kind of like Delta Force." He paused, shaking his head. "Man, Soap is one tough bastard."

"OK, let me get this straight: you miraculously ran into a bunch of your friends after shooting the terrorists?" The whole tale was sounding more and more like a Michael Bay movie.

"As crazy as it is, that's what happened. But I only knew Soap, not the other Task Force guys."

"Got it. So what did you do with the bodies?" Commonsense dictated to Cody that one couldn't leave dead terrorists lying around. They attracted vultures, jackals, coyotes—and other terrorists.

Zack heaved a noisy sigh. "I was just getting to that..."

* * *

Soap glanced about surreptitiously, as if he expected to see Ultranationalists rising from the dead. There were no signs of life in the valley, but the sun had crept above the horizon. A beautiful spring day was dawning.

"All right, ladies, we're likely to get our arses shot off jawing away out here in the open," he announced in a business-like manner. "Roach, Ozone, you're on body detail. Toss 'em in the back of that shite truck and roll it into a ditch. And set it on fire if you can."

"Roger."

"If they've got any spare AK clips, can you grab them for me?" Zack asked, retrieving his AK-47 from the ground.

Roach responded with a nod. "Sure thing, Deadman."

"Archer and Camo, you're on lookout. Ghost, Deadman," Soap pointed at Zack, "you're with me. We need to find cover."

"I got a cave," Zack said helpfully.

"Excellent, lead on." Soap extended an arm to Zack. "Then you can tell me how you walked away from a nuke. Did you happen to get any super powers, by the way?"

[***]

"...and then I heard your gunfire and you know the rest of the story." As Zack finished telling his "adventures" in Central Asia, he received stares of unabashed admiration from Soap, Ghost, Roach, and Ozone. Archer and Camo stood on guard at the mouth of cave. The donkey had wandered off during the shoot-out.

"Well shite, boyo, either the gods love you or hate you," Soap concluded. He ran a hand over his closely cropped, dark-brown mohawk. "And frankly I'm not sure which one is better."

"I think he has a golden horseshoe up his arse," quipped Ghost in his distinctive Cockney accent.

Soap's steely eyes softened for a moment. "Too bad for Tin Man and the rest of your mates, though."

The others nodded, suddenly quiet. They had all learned to expect death, but even so, it was the worst part of their job.

Zack broke the silence. "So what's the mission? What are you guys doing here?"

The captain removed a folded paper from one of his many pouches and smoothed it out on the cave floor. It was a topographical map of the region. "This is us here." He indicated a spot near the centre. "And that wee prison where you were held just happens to be where we're heading. We had a deep cover operative, codename Pip, who infiltrated the Ultranationalists after Scorpion Strike failed. We had great expectations for him, but he went and got himself captured. Scared the Dickens out of us, we thought for sure he was dead. Then intel informed us that he's still alive, being interrogated at this facility. We're going in to get him, because we take care of our own. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if that's where the Ultranationalists took your friend Abdul. We've had reports of civvies being dragged off to this place, but we're not sure why.

"The plan was to get close to the facility in that shite truck, then blast our way in under cover of darkness. A chopper will pick us up when we're done, before the U.S. Air Force bombs the place back to the Stone Age. Now we're behind schedule and we can't change the U.S. timeline, so we'll hafta break into Plan B."

"What's Plan B?" Zack asked, examining the map. He recognized various peaks and roads from his travels.

"We'll call HQ for a helo to drop off a couple of dune buggies with .50 cals mounted on the back, plus a Little Bird for air support. But we have to move fast. The Yanks will strike just before first light tomorrow." Soap looked to his watch. "We're cutting it close as it is."

"No worries, Soap, I can be your guy on the ground," Zack stated with utmost confidence. Already pre-mission anticipation was buzzing through his veins. "I have all the rest of the intel you need."

[***]

**THURSDAY, APRIL 4, 2019**

_Expect the unexpected._

Zack had never expected to lay eyes on the factory-prison again, but at 0530, as the dune buggy he was riding in with Soap, Ghost, and Archer crested a foothill, a smudge materialized on the southern horizon, close to a waning half-moon. After yesterday's planning session, he and Task Force 141 had hoofed their way to flatter terrain to meet the delivery helicopter that Soap had requested via satellite phone. They had been driving all night to make up for lost time.

As the dune buggy bounced along the potholed road, jogging his memory, the smudge grew larger. He could see two towers protrude into the still-dark sky and a cement barrier around the factory's perimeter. Images from January 7 flashed before his eyes. He felt his heart skip a single beat, his stomach clench. But there was no room in his thoughts for trepidation. Only the mission. He had to be calm, analytical, prepared.

He went over the steps in his head:

_1. Archer snipes guard on north side of prison._

_2. Soap and Deadman run up to plant C4 explosives on chain link fence surrounding concrete wall, then take cover with Ghost. _

_3. Archer, Camo, Roach and Ozone drive past south side of prison in dune buggies, firing to attract guards' attention. _

_4. Archer & Co. drive back and forth with .50 cal machine guns firing, throwing smoke grenades and concussion grenades to draw all guards to south side._

_5. Archer signals Little Bird to strafe south side of prison with air-to-surface missiles and machine gun fire._

_6. During missile fire from Little Bird, Soap detonates explosives on fence._

[***]

Soap pushed the plunger on the detonator as the Little Bird helicopter swooped over their heads, its mini guns streaming red fire. A cloud of smoke and debris replaced the chain link fence and cement barrier. The blast left a gaping hole.

"GO!" Soap roared. He took off running toward the nearest door in the factory's concrete wall.

Zack followed, with Ghost hot on his feels. Within seconds they'd kicked the door loose from its hinges and stormed into a long dimly lit corridor.

Zack's mental map of the factory-prison plugged itself into the pathways of his brain. "This way!" he yelled to Soap and Ghost.

The soles of the boots he'd "borrowed" from Vlad pounded down the corridor. In his hands he gripped the AK-47, his other souvenir from the unfortunate guard. Over Abdul's clothing he wore a black bulletproof vest and Kamran's toque hid the earpiece of his walkie talkie. Zack was as prepared as he'd ever be to liberate Abdul from the hellhole that had sucked away six months of his life.

At the end of the corridor, they spotted three guards approaching from the corner. Before the guards could react, they'd been pumped full of holes.

Soap snatched a ring of keys from the belt of a twitching body. A fatal chest wound oozed blood onto the floor. "Lead on, Deadman!"

A wide hall lined with doors came into view. A familiar stench assaulted Zack's nostrils. It was the smell of rot, neglect, decay, with an undercurrent of death.

"This is it!"

Soap zig-zagged across the hall, unlocking cell doors.

Zack opened each one, stuck his head inside long enough to verify whether the startled, bleary-eyed occupant was Abdul, then ran to open the next door.

Ghost took control of herding prisoners toward the makeshift exit. "Come on, men, you're getting out!" he yelled. "Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

Dazed, bedraggled men of all ages stumbled from the cells, like overgrown children let out for an impromptu recess. Each paused for a second, then ran for his life.

"Did you find your man yet?" Soap called over his shoulder as they neared the last set of locked doors.

"Negative."

Around the next corner stretched an identical hall. At the far end, Zack immediately made out the rectangle at floor level. The vent cover. His stomach lurched involuntarily, but he kept running after Soap.

The captain, perpetually in motion, was unlocking door after door. The pop and crackle of gunfire escalated from beyond the right-hand wall. The Ultranationalists had realized they were under attack. AK-47s battled M-4 assault rifles until the 5.56 rounds began to overpower the 7.62 rounds. _Archer and the other guys must have their hands full outside._

Zack whipped open a rusty door.

A bloodshot eye blinked at him in the ghostly slice of light. The other eye was swollen shut, the face blackened by bruises. Blood crusted both corners of a badly split lip. The voice that spoke was halfway between a whisper and a croak.

"Zack?"

Zack had once seen a soldier snap from witnessing one too many casualties, go crazy shooting anything that moved, until he was shot dead himself. He didn't want to be that guy, but at the sight of a beaten Abdul Nazarov hunched and helpless on the cell floor, red dots swarmed over his vision. Every muscle tensed. His teeth clenched as his blood pressure vibrated in his ears.

_The fuckers are going to pay for this._

The clock was ticking. There would be time for a reunion later. Retribution had to come first.

Zack held out a hand to his friend. "Come on," he urged.

Grasping his hand, Abdul hobbled to his feet. Zack led him into the hall. "Stay with me," he hissed as he resumed opening cell doors. There was no other way to protect Abdul for now.

Ozone met them from the opposite direction. He was sweating. "Roach and Camo are providing cover at the south entrance. Archer is on lookout. Any sign of our man?"

Soap gave a brief shake of his head. "We're gonna hafta go down a level."

Zack steered Abdul toward Ozone. "Make sure this one gets on the helo. Protect him with your life." He couldn't have cared less about Pip. Abdul was his precious cargo and knowing that he was safe meant he'd achieved his objective.

Now, to the finish the mission...

Just as they reached the stairwell, a bullet passed inches from Soap's head. Zack's hands moved like lightning. He plucked a flashbang grenade from Ghost's vest and hurled it down into the shadows. The non-lethal explosion would stun anybody who was down there. Into the smoking air he threw a grenade from Soap's belt supply.

The explosion seemed to rock the entire building.

Screams of pain rose, then dwindled as puffs of grey engulfed the space. A few moans mixed in.

"Nice work, Deadman," approved the captain.

With the coast clear, Soap, Ghost and Zack exploded into action. They took the stairs two at a time and leapt over the bodies crumpled at the bottom. Acrid fumes from the flashbang scorched Zack's throat, but he'd long since learned to ignore unpleasant sensations.

The lower level of the factory could have been a dungeon out of a Cold War thriller. Concrete pillars. Row upon row of rusted iron bars. Brown water dripping down crumbling walls. Floor littered with rubble and broken glass. If an undercover operative would be hidden anywhere, it would be down here.

"Och, this place is like a Russian gulag," growled Soap, as they raced among the maze, assessing for threats and dangers. They moved and shot, moved and shot. Their red and orange blasts illuminated the damp, chill air.

Soap took an abrupt left. "There's a door at nine o'clock."

Zack rammed a fresh clip into his AK-47. He knew he would need it.

The door was no match for their door-kicking skills. It crashed to the floor.

The tableau inside implied the occupants had been expecting them.

Reacting on instinct, Zack fired straight at the head of the guard nearest the door. His neck craned backwards as he was jerked off his feet. A bullet hole the size of a dime appeared between his eyes. He collapsed face-first, brain matter leaking from the exit wound at the back of his skull.

Two other guards spun where they were, heads, throats and chests pierced with a deadly hail of bullets from Soap and Ghost, before they could fire a single shot to cover their two comrades. One was holding a pistol to the head of a gagged, kneeling figure.

Zack felt the AK-47 moving in his hands, while his mind compensated for the rifle's slight inaccuracy. His breathing slowed to ensure his aim would not be affected.

The Ultranationalist's eyes bulged, then froze as the bullet struck his open mouth. His tongue instantly became a gush of blood. A second shot ripped through his larynx. The pistol fell from his hands. The slain terrorist flopped to the floor, already slick with blood, where he joined the three other Ultranationalists. The stink of burning flesh infused the room.

Ghost seized the pistol, while Soap gripped the rescued operative by his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. "Can you walk?"

"Yes," he grunted. Ghost handed him the pistol.

"We've gotta get outta here," ordered the captain. "Move, move!"

Zack bounded for the doorway. The walls began to tremble.

Then they exploded.

[***]

Something was hovering in front of Zack's face. A muffled voice drawled over the ringing in his ears, each syllable dragged out, "Deadman, get up!"

He moved slightly and saw starbursts inside his eyeballs. A dull pain throbbed across the top of his skull. _Pain is your friend_, intoned a voice from training. _It lets you know you're still alive_.

That was all it took for Zack to snap into the present. He grabbed Soap's hand and scrambled upright, just as the floor rocked violently again. _Oh shit, the air strike started early!_

"Our primary exit is cut off," Soap yelled into his radio. "We're heading to the east side of the building."

Zack heard a chirp from Archer in his own earpiece. "Aye, sir, heading to your position."

"And tell the bloody Yanks to fuck off!" the captain roared. "We've still got friendlies in here!"

Walls continued to cave as Zack sprinted with Soap, Ghost, and Pip for the pick-up zone. It was like running through an earthquake. _Nobody_ unleashed fury like the U.S. Air Force. Wave after wave of missiles slammed into the building, loosening chunks of debris from the ceiling to create a treacherous obstacle course. The air was thick with dust and smoke, caking Zack's throat, causing him to hack and cough uncontrollably.

Every breath hurt, but he had to keep going. All four of them had to.

With danger closing in on all sides, Zack felt his senses overloading. The ear-splitting noise intensified. Movements became staccato. Another cough scraped his lungs inside out. His eyes watered and stung.

Soap bellowed into the mayhem, "It's a dead end!"

A huge swathe of concrete crashed down near Ghost and Pip sending a shower of sparks from a fire raging on the main level. Suddenly hazy light wafted through the plumes of smoke.

The helicopter pilot responded, his voice frantic but controlled. "I can't see you, I can't see you. There's too much smoke."

Soap yanked a flare gun from his belt and fired. Seconds later Zack saw Archer kick a rope from 300 feet above.

"Get ready to hold on for your life!" Soap hollered, hooking his vest to the rope.

Zack and Ghost found their own hooks. Pip grabbed on tightly.

Two floors of blazing wreckage zoomed by, flames licking at their boots, as they left the inferno behind. The rope twisted as it picked up speed.

Zack leaned into the curve and held on, watching numbly while missiles rained onto the factory from three F-22 Raptors ripping past them. A rush of cool air filled his lungs and the light-headed feeling lifted.

The steady thrum of helicopter rotors soon drowned out the explosions below. When the door was almost within reach, he saw a mass of fire balloon from the ravaged building.

Although it was only minutes after dawn, the sky lit up as brightly as day.

[***]

Abdul's village required the pilot to take a short detour en route to the landing strip at an undisclosed location in Uzbekistan.

The yak herder was thrilled to be going home in style and thanked Zack repeatedly for saving him from the Ultranationalists while they sat together in the back of the Chinook.

"No problem, man." Zack had to shout to make himself heard above the noise of the rotors. Abdul's exuberant grin was all the thanks he needed.

The Task Force's medic had cleaned the cuts on Abdul's face and was checking the soldiers for injuries.

"Got my foot shot," Camo griped as the medic dressed a flesh wound on Roach's left bicep.

"Och, walk it off, you big girl," Soap scoffed, with a dismissive wave.

Zack knew his nerve endings were still anesthetized by adrenaline. Other than seeing slight jagged edges when he moved his head, though, he seemed to be in decent shape. The mission was over and he had his precious cargo. Life could be good again.

Ayana, Shararah, and Farshad dashed outside as the Chinook descended to the pasture behind their bungalow, their expressions a collective mask of joy and disbelief. Kamran soon ran up the path, on his way to meet Farshad before school.

The tail ramp lowered, and Zack walked to the ground with Abdul, who was immediately swept into his wife's grateful arms. He stood aside as the downblast battered them, then found himself wrapped up in a group hug.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Abdul burbled, shaking his right hand furiously. Farshad and Kamran slapped his left hand with a string of high-fives.

"You can keep the hat," said Kamran, grinning.

Shararah's arms stayed folded around Zack's neck as the others retreated. Tears streamed from her pretty green eyes. "Good-bye, Zack," she murmured, her lips moving against his ear. "I never forget you."

He could not resist her sincerity and innocence. Zack placed his hands on her wet cheeks and pressed his lips gently to the side of her mouth, tasting salt from her tears, to give her something else to remember him by. He doubted very much that they would ever see each other again.

"Break it up already," came Soap's brusque brogue from inside the Chinook. "We're bingo fuel!"

And then it was time to go for real. Bingo fuel meant they had only enough to reach the landing strip.

In his usual position by the tail ramp, Zack waved to Abdul and his family until they were specks in the valley. He felt a strange tightening in his chest. Were his emotions welling up? He started to cough.

_No_, he realized, _it's just the effects of smoke inhalation._

Before the Nazarovs blended completely into the landscape, the Chinook banked sharply to the west. The mountains dropped away.

Zack felt his knees buckling.

"Deadman, are you OK?" Soap's words sounded fuzzy, as though he were shouting from a great distance. "Doc!"

His eyelids fluttered as an oxygen mask was placed over his face.

In his last moments of consciousness, Zack wondered if he'd finally stop hearing Tommy's screams.

* * *

"When I woke up, I was in a hospital near my home base in Germany, hooked up to a respirator. Turns out the smoke inhalation had triggered a relapse of pneumonia. I had the antibiotic-resistant kind. And I was under guard."

Cody digested these facts. "But that was in early April," he protested, confused. "Why didn't they call us to say you were alive?" As he spoke, a hard, painful lump rose in his throat at the thought of his twin brother alone and sick in a foreign hospital. Had he known, he would have been there in a heartbeat, would have ordered his assistant to empty his schedule for the foreseeable future.

"I needed security clearance. The army top brass and the CIA thought maybe I was a double agent for the Ultranationalists, since I just happened to be there when and Soap and the Task Force were attacked. It was too much of a coincidence. But eventually I was cleared, thanks in no small part to Soap, and I was sent to a VA hospital in Delaware."

"How long were you there?"

Zack sat back on his heels, eyes on the floor. "Just over a month."

Cody couldn't believe his ears. Angrily, he demanded, "Why didn't you get in touch?" What a difference three months would have made—like not having to cope with the prospect of his first birthday without Zack.

Zack kicked at an apple core and Cody watched it roll a few feet. "I didn't know what to say. 'Hey, I'm not dead' just didn't seem right. I must have picked up the phone a dozen times. And then when our birthday rolled around, I knew it was now or never."

_Never?_ Surely Zack didn't mean that. "So, um..." Cody forced a smile. "Is this the first time you've told someone the whole story?"

The answer surprised him. "No, I talked to a psychiatrist at the VA hospital almost every day. He said that saving Abdul's life and being part of the attack on the prison would give meaning to the whole experience and help me move on."

"And have they?" Were he in combat boots instead of black tasseled loafers, Cody didn't think he'd ever be able to move on from such an ordeal.

"Yeah, I think so," Zack said. "My latest stress score was pretty good. I'm officially on leave until the end of the year, but I'm not going to rejoin the army."

"Well, obviously." Cody was decisively relieved that this phase of Zack's life was over.

"Because I got a better offer," Zack continued matter-of-factly. "Soap called on Thursday and said there's a spot for me on Task Force 141 anytime I want. I told him I'd need some time to think about it. But now I know I'm ready to go back."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks again for your patience, guys, during this slower updating period. My goal is to update biweekly again, or once a week at the very least. Please read and review. Big thanks! Xoxoxo – Ellie **


	27. Doing the Right Thing

**A/N: Props to Reneyyy'Sprouse' for commenting on the Pip/**_**Great Expectations**_**/Dickens reference in Chapter 25. As a thank-you for all the awesome reviews, I'm posting this chapter one day early.

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**Chapter 26: Doing the Right Thing

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"_If the noble-hearted ideals of humankind were to prevail, then they needed men who could make it happen."_

_Delta Force sergeant in _Black Hawk Down_, by Mark Bowden_

_And what more could you ask from me  
How could you say that I never needed you  
When you took everything  
Said you took everything from me_

_Guns N' Roses, "Estranged"_

[-]

Cody felt as if Zack had punched him again. In the stomach. And then pushed him off a cliff. He was still reeling from the horrors his brother had survived. Was the nightmare about to begin anew?

"No," he insisted. "You can't join the task force. You just can't."

"You know me, I'll come home one way or another." Judging by Zack's flip tone, he was trying to avoid an argument.

_In a body bag_, Cody wanted to snap, but couldn't bring himself to say the words. Instead he grabbed Zack's arm, forgetting about the tattooed names, and begged, "Don't do this to me again. Please, Zack, I can't lose you for real."

Zack flinched at the touch, but didn't pull his arm away. "This isn't about you," he responded. "Despite what I said earlier, not every decision I make revolves around you, little brother." His eyes swept over the extravagant bathroom, then resettled on Cody. All at once he seemed like a stranger again. "This is my profession. It's what I've chosen to do." After a pause, he added, "Seriously, Cody, you should be grateful people are willing to do the dirty work for you."

There was an accusation in this, Cody was sure of it. He remembered how a few days ago at Long Wharf Zack had scorned that donating to charities and peace programs hadn't made a difference to bringing him home. His exact words had been "It didn't have anything to do with your balls and galas." Cody could see the logic in this retort now, but in his own way, he _had_ helped Zack. So why was Zack going to abandon him? Cody couldn't shake the queasy suspicion that he was somehow responsible for Zack's decision to join Task Force 141, clearly one of the most dangerous military jobs in the world.

Fragments of their earlier conversation triggered a fresh wave of fear. "Is this about the _Forbes_ profile?" he asked, dread and guilt mixing in his voice.

"What?" Zack's expression was unreadable.

"Are you mad I'm getting all this attention?" Pain radiated from his jaw, justified, even welcome. It was punishment for taking the spotlight, the status, and the girl. "I don't deserve it," he conceded. He didn't want to outshine his brother anymore. "All I do is throw money at problems. You've saved lives. You're the real hero."

Zack shrugged. "You're just trying to do the right thing," he said simply. "Same as me."

Cody felt the floor fall out from under him. "How is getting yourself killed _doing the right thing_?" he shouted, shoving Zack against the bathtub, wanting to cause him pain for being so selfish. "How is ruining my life _doing the right thing_?" Cody knew he was carrying on like the dorky little brother Zack still considered him, regardless of everything he'd attained, but he didn't know what else to do. The knot building in his chest was threatening to become a panic attack. For a crazy instant, he pictured smashing the whiskey bottle over Zack's head.

Zack moved easily out of Cody's reach. "So the next time a bomb is about to go off or an innocent civilian gets kidnapped, I should just sit back and let it happen?" he countered in a self-righteous tone that Cody had never heard him use before. "Is that what you want?"

"No, of course, not," Cody argued vehemently as he struggled to contain his careening thoughts. He hadn't predicted this angle from Zack, once his insensitive, irresponsible half. From listening to Zack's story, he did understand on a new, deeper level that his brother shared at least some of his vision for a better world. "I get that you want to help people, you know I do," he backpedalled. "It's not like I think you're just playing Rambo. And I'm really proud of you, Zack, for everything you've done. But..." He floundered to explain what he meant. Somebody needed to defend people like Abdul Nazarov who were just trying to get by. That made perfect sense—but not enough sense to change how he felt about letting go of Zack. Nothing could change that. The possibility that Zack would put himself in such danger again was unbearable. Completely and totally unbearable.

"But why does the next problem have to be _your_ responsibility? Zack, you've done your part. You're my brother, my twin brother, and that means I need you in my life." Cody's voice cracked. Tears sprang to his eyes. He couldn't forget how Zack had hallucinated about him in prison, how Zack had relied on him to help him escape. "And I know you need me, too."

"What I need," Zack said tersely, jaw set, "is to get on with my life."

The quicksand feeling in Cody's throat thickened. He himself had told Zack it was time to move on, right before the blow-up that led to these revelations. Had he known what the repercussions would be, he never would have said such a heartless thing. "You can be Head of Security at TMI," he pleaded, desperate to find an olive branch that Zack would accept. "We'll create a Foundation scholarship in Tommy's name. Abdul can have the biggest, best Quick-E Mart in Boston. You can even keep the Bondmobile."

Zack's eyes zeroed in on him uncomfortably. "Can you give me a reason to stay that _doesn't_ involve you?"

Cody gulped. "Sure, I can do that."

"Just give me a few days, OK?" he rushed on, praying this would buy enough time.

Zack seemed to think this over, then nodded, but his eyebrows furrowed skeptically. He sat cross-legged, folding and unfolding a towel, as though waiting for Cody to expand on the offer.

Cody flattened his hand on the bathtub rim, sucking in shaky breaths. Finally, tentatively, he asked, "So you're not, you're not mad at me?" He didn't want to damage what felt like a truce.

"No, not really," Zack replied. A muscle twitched in his cheek, and Cody wondered if he was lying, if Zack's ability to see right through him was still in tact. Had he guessed the reason behind this token trip to L.A.?

But, as he watched, the corners of Zack's mouth twisted into a devilish smirk. He hooked his arm around Cody and chuckled, "Just that I had to sleep in a cave while you got to stay here and live the suite life."

Relief seeped through Cody. _Trust Zack to turn a life and death situation into a joke._ Laughter bubbled up inside him, but stuck in his throat as the quicksand dissolved into tears. The emotions he'd strove to subdue all night overflowed, like floodgates bursting on a dam.

Zack's hand squeezed his shoulder. "It's OK," he said, the same thing Cody had said to their mom and London after they told him the devastating news. July 3, 2018, the day his whole world had sunk into a black hole, his plans and priorities reorganized for him, with no warning. The awful memory made him cry harder.

"It's OK, buddy," Zack said again. His voice had lost its cold edge. He sighed. "I won't call Soap yet."

So he had won. For now. But even as Cody sobbed into Zack's shoulder, holding onto the safety of this promise, the impact of his victory suddenly horrified him. _No, it's not OK._ He ached to his core for Zack, who had confronted death countless times, for the people who depended on him, and for the soldier who would have to take his place. By refusing to let Zack go, hadn't he condemned that soldier's family to suffer an inevitable agonizing loss?

_I'm sorry if that makes me selfish_, he thought, his heart breaking for these nameless citizens, whose shattered faces he could see in his mind. _My brother has served his country. Please, let somebody else's brother do the dirty work next time._

_Next time... _Enduring war contravened everything he wanted to believe in. Why else had he started the Tipton Martin Foundation for World Peace? Just as he'd told Zack at Long Wharf, ever since he could remember he had aspired to combat disease, war, and poverty. A pipe dream, just as important as spiriting his brother back to Boston after a fatal helicopter crash on the other side of the globe. And yet now that Zack was here, traumatized and distant, with his dead best friend's name tattooed on his wrist, he was determined to leave again, because in the big picture nothing had changed. There would always be another conflict on the horizon, another threat to defuse, another adversary to disarm, another battle to fight. The hopelessness of it all overwhelmed him.

"Cody, stop it." Zack hugged him with both arms, rubbing a circle on his back. "It's OK."

More layers of déjà vu enveloped Cody. Zack had always been there to comfort him when he'd woken up from nightmares as a child. Now Zack was the one who had nightmares, and probably would for the rest of his life. And Cody, by some uncanny twin paradox, was still the fragile one who needed to be reassured. That left a bitter taste in his mouth. More evidence that no matter how the tables turned, he could never truly play big brother. Perhaps he shouldn't have even tried, though he had only wanted to protect Zack, when he had been hurt enough already, and in so many different ways.

"Do you want me to get your Xanax from your room?" Zack asked. He sounded worried.

"No, I'm fine," Cody managed, between hiccups, embarrassed that Zack had figured out he still occasionally needed the anti-anxiety pills, prescribed just before their 26th birthday, to quiet the clutter in his head.

He had to pull himself together. It was too upsetting for Zack to see him falling apart like this, which justified his reluctance to talk about what had happened during the lost year. He straightened up and as he did, he caught sight of the mirrored ceiling. His rumpled, runny-nosed reflection sent shudders along his spine. He was a senior executive, he was supposed to be in control. "Regressive emotional wreck" was not in the job description. At 8:30 his chauffeur would be here to drive him to the emergency St. Mark takeover meeting.

He had exactly one hour to recompose himself into some semblance of _Forbes_' New Face of Corporate America, whatever that meant.

Cody ran his hand over his eyes, sobs subsiding, and blew his nose in the sodden pocket hanky. His cheek was turning numb, his shirt and tie so stained with steak juice that the hotel's top-notch dry cleaning service couldn't possibly salvage them. "God, I'm such a mess," he contradicted himself morosely.

Zack patted his shoulder. "Well, London probably wouldn't be impressed," he said wryly.

Cody shut his eyes to restrain a new flood of tears. He couldn't face thinking about his fiancée. Opening them, he cleared his throat with a cough and motioned to the bathroom door. "I have to make a call."

"Fine." Zack pushed himself to his feet, keeping his hand on Cody's shoulder. When he left, he took the nearly empty whiskey bottle with him.

Cody closed the door and dug the business BlackBerry out of his pocket. It had been switched off for hours. The build-up of text messages gave him another jolt of reality.

_First things first._ He sat on the floor, breathing in deeply until he trusted his voice to work properly, then began to scroll through his contacts list.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter is named for the 1989 Spike Lee masterpiece **_**Do the Right Thing**_**, which questions whether violence is ever justified. Obviously there is no definite answer, just as no one can answer whether war will ever end, or whether peace advocates or soldiers make the biggest contribution to this goal. Is either twin being selfish, or more deserving of being called a hero? Or is all fair in love and war? I love to hear your thoughts. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	28. Don't You Know Me By Now?

**A/N: As always, thank you for all the thoughtful reviews, especially for Chapter 26. This chapter contains various flashbacks, which are in italics for a change.

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**Chapter 27: "Don't You Know Me By Now?"

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**MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 2019**

_One down, one to go_, thought Cody, palms clammy, his stomach snarled in knots. He felt more seasick than he ever had on the _S.S. Tipton_.

It was 11:00 at night. He was over a day late returning to Boston. The meeting for the St. Mark takeover had been mercifully short, only two hours, but the rest of Sunday had been a write-off, except for a last-minute invitation to dinner at Woody and Addison's house in Brentwood. In the morning, he'd dragged Zack out of bed extra early so he could keep his promise about Santa Barbara. While the pristine beaches, picturesque Spanish architecture, and lush vineyards had cleared his mind for a few hours, the highlight had been Zack letting him drive the Bondmobile back to L.A.

Now he was in the eye of the storm again, approaching the French doors to the main wing of London's closet, slapping his forehead because he'd forgotten to bring her a present from L.A. A bagful of _Debutante Debauchery_ obviously wouldn't do. He'd even forgotten the chardonnay she'd asked for from the Tipton Vineyard.

How the hell would he explain himself?

* * *

The shipment of dresses from Arturo Vitalli's winter couture collection was just what London's heavy heart needed. It had been delivered to the penthouse suite while London dined with Portia Tenenbaum at L'Espalier, and Jarvis had carried it up to her closet. Throughout dinner London had exhausted herself plastering on her sunniest smiles and laughing about Chelsea Brimmer's latest boob job, Muffy Silverstone's skin-tight Pilates outfit that validated all claims about her horrendous cellulite, and other assorted Boston society scandals. Normally London enjoyed a snide gossip fest with her oldest friend in the world, but tonight she was acutely aware that any chink in her armour could spark a headline in Portia's next bulletin: _London Tipton and Cody Martin over at last? _She wondered how many people were betting on when their break-up would become official, and whether any lucky winner would make a mint off the news.

For what seemed like the thousandth time, the BlackBerry call from Sunday morning rewound itself and began to play.

_She answered on the first buzz. "Hi, sweetie, how's L.A.?" _

"_Fine. Just heading into a meeting, then Zack and I are going to Santa Barbara to check out the vineyard." Cody sounded odd, quite unlike his confident executive self, almost as if he'd been crying. _

_But as usual there had been no point asking what was wrong, what with Daddy railing in the background that he'd "had it up to here with Jim St. Mark's truckload of poison pills." Daddy was so good at being at hostile. Unfortunately, so were his competitors._

_So she just said, "Sounds like fun. I'm in the Hamptons with Brandi. Bring me back some bottles of Daddy's prize-winning chardonnay." _

"_Sure. I'll see you tonight, OK?"_

"_OK. I love you." _

"_Yeah, I love you, too." _

_The worry wouldn't go away. Had he waited a second too long to respond? And why wasn't he home yet?

* * *

_

_**daydream delusion  
limousine Eyelash**_

For close to nine years London Tipton had been the most important person in Cody's life. He had been devoted to her for all of them, had cherished and taken care of her, right up until that fateful day, less than two weeks before their wedding.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to wait so many years to propose to her. But he had only been 16 when he realized he was in love with her. Completing his MBA and establishing his career had taken precedence. Then he'd had to earn his first million to prove his worth. Her 10-carat engagement ring, custom-designed by Claudio Candelario, was evidence that he'd succeeded.

Could he ever forget the day in July 2017 when he ordered the ring from Harry Winston on Fifth Avenue? The manager had rushed up to him, flabbergasted that the reclusive visionary had been persuaded out of 15 years of retirement to design an engagement ring for the heiress, and immensely flattered that Candelario, having destroyed his own studio, had chosen to use Harry Winston's studio and materials to create this one final masterpiece. The other male shoppers had gazed at him with an unfamiliar mixture of pity, thinking _That poor bastard, she must be a handful,_ and emasculation, knowing their own purchases would seem like trinkets in comparison. These were the same guys who would have teased him at school for spending too much time in the library and picked him last to be on their teams in gym class.

* * *

_**oh baby with your pretty face  
drop a tear in my wineglass**_

London sighed as she fastened the last couple of hooks on a black and gold brocade frock. It was definitely her favourite dress so far, a complex design with a trail of hooks from the top of the bodice to the bias-cut hem that skimmed her knees.

"How does Mommy look?" she asked Ivana II. The Pomeranian was asleep on the chaise. It was way past her bedtime.

London turned instead to her talking mirror, the full-sized model of the one she carried in her purse. "How do I look?"

The mirror knew exactly what she longed to hear. "Three words: fa-bu-lous"

Buoyed by the mirror's compliment, London slid her feet into a pair of black Raven Baxter pumps and rotated to the left and then the right, admiring how the style emphasized her slender waist and flat stomach, and draped over the curve of her Pilates-toned hips.

_Still hotmazing_, she concurred. _And I don't need a face-lift yet, thank goodness._

She gathered her hair in her left hand, letting a few tendrils fall loosely around her face, and wondered if the diamond necklace Kyle had given her on Thursday night would make the scalloped neckline pop even more.

"I wanted to give you something to show my appreciation," Kyle had said as he passed the Tiffany's box to her, a guarantee of shiny and expensive and timeless. "You deserve it."

The necklace was locked inside the safe in her office. Nobody but Brandi knew about Kyle's gift. London hadn't had it appraised yet for insurance purposes. Whether she would or not she hadn't made up her mind.

* * *

_**look at those big eyes on your face  
see what you mean to me**_

_**sweet cakes and milkshakes**_

Peering through the French doors at his fiancée transported Cody to another night when he'd returned to Boston, feeling just as raw and jittery as he did tonight. There had been no set of instructions to consult for how to proceed in such a bewildering situation.

_London saw him first and turned around to look at him with those timid, stricken eyes, dark as bruises_.

_Nauseous guilt swallowed him up. His heart plummeted to his knees. How could he have done this to her?_

_He had gone straight to her and wrapped his arms about her. Silently she allowed him to, though her body felt stiff and unyielding, as if he was embracing a mannequin. That was to be expected._

"_I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair, over and over again, burying his face in it, breathing in the cotton-candy scent of her Escada perfume, until her hands unclenched and he felt her fingers spread out across his back._

_He couldn't tell if she meant to draw him closer or was simply capitulating to his need to be physically close to her. When he tilted her chin upward, he was still afraid of what he might see. Loathing? Contempt? Sympathy? Or a sentiment that didn't even have a name? _

_Her eyes searched his face, exuding a helpless vulnerability, and slowly her right hand crept up to his cheek. He dared to take hold of it and kiss her fingertips, perfectly manicured as always, lingering on each one._

"_Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," he repeated himself, his throat clogging with tears. _

_It was she who kissed him, who slipped her hands underneath his shirt. And then they were pulling at each other's clothes, lost in a tangle of mouths and limbs, fumbling for intimacy.

* * *

_

_**I'm a delusion angel  
I'm a fantasy parade**_

At the thought of Kyle's necklace, London remembered a different conversation from yesterday. She and Brandi had gone into New York for some soul-soothing retail therapy.

"_Look Brandi, Kyle and I are from the same world. We understand each other."_

"_If you leave Cody for Kyle Lawford, you'll end up like me—a serial wife who's only as good as her last pre-nuptial agreement."_

"_How do you know? You don't have a crystal ball." She reconsidered this. "Do you?"_

_Brandi shook her head sadly as she fingered an Hermés scarf. "I know Kyle's type, London. And so do you."_

_London started to cry right there in Bergdorf's. She'd always known she wasn't the sharpest tool in the manicurist's kit, as one might say, but she truly hadn't seen this coming. _

"_Brandi, don't you get it?" she sobbed. "Kyle is the rich douche I already know. Cody is the rich douche I never expected."

* * *

_

_**I want you to know what I think  
don't want you to guess anymore**_

After that first night back in Boston, a strange protracted dance had begun of tiptoeing around each other. He would feel her quiet, fretful glances at the breakfast table, when they lay next to each other in bed, whenever he came home late, as she waited for him to open up, to tell her where he'd been on his so-called business trip and how he was feeling. Only he couldn't. How could she, an only child, understand what he was going through? How could _anyone_? His mom had pleaded with him to give her bereavement support group a chance. She had even encouraged him to join a support group specifically for "twinless twins." Unthinkable. To do so would have been to admit that Zack was dead. That he too was now, for all intents and purposes, an only child. Half a person. No, throwing himself into his work and into launching the Tipton Martin Foundation for World Peace had been infinitely easier.

London's gusto for Foundation activities had impressed him at first. She had a staggering network of contacts and plenty of time on her hands. Her galas attracted valuable media attention, stellar guest lists and sponsors, and more money than he could have hoped to raise during the Foundation's first year.

Working together toward a common goal should have re-cemented their relationship, instead of unravelling it.

"_London, I don't want a birthday party." He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you?"_

_She wouldn't take no for an answer. "Cody, people love birthday parties," she yammered in his ear. "And this is the prime fundraising opportunity of the summer season. If we wait until July, everybody will be on vacation."_

_Rain slashed against the windows from a dreary Parisian sky as his driver negotiated the never-ending traffic jam. He had a blinding headache, compounded by insomnia and the incessant honking outside. "Can we just drop the subject? Please?" _

"_The party will be fantastic, you'll see. All you have to do is show up." _

_The car charged into an open spot. The folder on his lap flew open, sending an avalanche of innovation reports onto the floor. He was going to lose it right here in the middle of the Arc de Triomphe roundabout, he could feel the outburst building. _

"_I can't deal with any this right now. I'll talk to you later," he muttered. Shutting off the BlackBerry, he rested his head in his hands and tried to erase all thoughts of his and Zack's impending 26th birthday. He hadn't known it was possible for a single day, one that had always been a joyous occasion, to incite such suffocating, all-encompassing despair. How appropriate that he was trapped next to a world-famous symbol of military victory._

_**you have no idea where I came from  
we have no idea where we're going**_

Cody hadn't budged from the doorway. His feet were glued to the floor. And London was so engrossed in her reflection that she hadn't noticed him. The nasal whine of her insufferable talking mirror grated like nails on a blackboard.

_No time like the present._ It was one of Wilfrid's mottoes. For all his failings, such as having more ex-wives than anyone could count, Wilfrid Tipton was actually a terrific boss. Cody had a lot to lose if everything changed tonight. He could walk away from TMI if he had to, though. With ample savings and a robust investment portfolio, he had enough to live on comfortably for a long time.

Drawing himself up to his full height, he took a deep breath, plucked a strand of lint from his Prada sweater vest and stepped into the closet.

"Hey there," he said to his fiancée.

She spun around at the sound of his voice, her smile vanishing just as quickly.

"Baby, what happened to you?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern.

He'd forgotten about his bruised face, too. "Zack and I got in a fight," he replied hurriedly, assuming she would picture them brawling like hooligans in a sleazy bar on Sunset Boulevard. "But everything is OK now." He didn't want to get into the tears and trauma of Saturday night. In fact, the only reason he had the courage to finally address these nagging doubts was that he no longer felt estranged from his twin.

"Oh." Her lips pinched together and she put her hands on her hips. "Why didn't you come home yesterday?"

"Brother stuff. I just needed to spend some more time with Zack," he explained lamely. "He's really been through a lot." That same candy-sweet perfume beckoned, but he stayed in the doorway, unable to move any closer. London's closet was her happy place. He felt wretched.

* * *

_**lodged in life like branches in the river  
flowing downstream  
caught in the current**_

London gave a small nod, remembering the tattooed names she'd discovered on her almost-brother-in-law's arm, after dinner with Kyle. "Yeah, I know."

There an awkward silence. Ivana II woke up and scurried out.

"So..." Cody laced his fingers together. "How was Bridge?"

"Fine," she replied carefully, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. Her eyes pinned themselves to the purple blotch on Cody's right cheek. _He must have really pissed off Zombie._ _Must be why he was so upset yesterday._ She couldn't decide whether she felt sorry for Cody or not. Her fiancé looked worn out in general, with dark circles ringing his eyes. He looked like he could use a hug.

Another pause. "How's Brandi?"

"She's good. She's going to co-host the November fundraising dinner with me. She has some really awesome ideas. Jamie Rallison, the famous comedian, is performing a set. Millicent is looking after all the details. And I hired a new event design company." London couldn't keep her voice from rising toward the end of the update.

"Cool."

_Cool? _The word felt like a slap. _Is that all you have to say?_

Another snippet of "advice" from Brandi surfaced: _"London, just talk to him. I know you two can work it out." _

_Well, we're talking now_, she rebutted, _and_ _what good is it doing?

* * *

_

_**I'll carry you you carry me  
that's how it could be**_

Tongue-tied, Cody let his eyes roam around the cavernous space. It was lined with shelves of shoes and purses, racks of colour-coordinated garments—enough clothes to outfit half of Boston. Next to the chaise sat a huge box. He recognized the Arturo Vitalli shipping label.

Instantly the box formed part of the invisible wall between them. His thoughts crystallized.

_When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping._

The craving for approval shone through London's eyes, inflected her voice, and he would kick himself later for what he was about to do, he knew he would, but he was tired of being stuck on this collision course. Before he could make a decision about spending the rest of his life with her, he needed to know who she really was.

Looking more at the vacated chaise than at his fiancée, he stammered out, "Just tell me one thing, London. Tell me you care more about helping people than throwing parties."

* * *

_**don't you know me  
don't you know me by now**_

It took a few seconds for the shock to wear off, then London found her voice.

"You bastard!" she screamed, spitting venom with every word, her eyes narrowed to slits. Rejection and disappointment burned like a red-hot poker embedded in her ribcage, tearing her wide open, reminding her of someone else. Even her scalp was on fire. "How _dare_ you?"

Cody stared at her as she vented the rage that had built up for weeks, months. "I care about you and saving our relationship. Everything I do for the Foundation is so we'll still have something to talk about!"

She took off a pump and threw it at his head, causing him to duck. "Don't you know me?" she shrieked. The second pump followed the first one. "Don't you know me by now?"

Then she took off her beloved engagement ring. With his lousy hand-eye coordination, she knew he wouldn't catch it.

The sound it made as it hit the wall was the sound of her heart breaking.

* * *

**A/N: The birthday party conflict was mentioned in Chapters 1, 2, and 12. The poem is from the 1995 indie movie **_**Before Sunrise**_**, directed by Richard Linklater and starring Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy. Definitely a chatty, girly movie, but highly recommended if you like that sort of thing. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, you guys, and for your patience and moving wishes. Xoxoxo – Ellie**

**P.S. This chapter is also dedicated to Waldojeffers for reminding me how many days are in September (thanks again! :) **


	29. Code W!

**A/N: Here (at last) is Chapter 28...

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**Chapter 28: "Code W!"

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What else was there to do but storm out?

Accordingly, London snatched up her black Chanel purse and stormed in the direction of the foyer. A few years ago, her knee-jerk response would have been to call Daddy and demand that he fire Cody on the spot. Today that was pointless, since Cody would probably be CEO of TMI one day. But she did have other options: with one speed-dial button on her BlackBerry, she could be on her way to Daddy's villa on Parrot Island, or to Kyle's condo in Aspen. Or Maddie's house in Philadelphia, or Brandi's in Bridgehampton. Portia's penthouse, just a few blocks away, was off limits.

Weighing the options slowed her down as she neared the front door in her stocking feet. One thing was clear. Her first destination would be the boutique in the lobby to buy a new pair of shoes—plus an outfit to match the shoes. Skippy the night manager would have to open up the boutique for her.

A hand seized her shoulder before she could touch the doorknob. She looked down. Long tapered fingers. Impeccably neat fingernails.

So Cody had run after her—unless Jarvis had something to tell her. She wheeled around, arms locked across her chest, back pressed to the door for support. What did her ex-fiancé have to say for himself?

Cody's face was white, distraught, his bluish-green eyes a darker shade than she'd ever seen them. "God, London, I'm sorry." He clutched her shoulder. "I should never have said that. I don't even know what I was thinking."

London didn't buy this for an instant. "Yes, you do," she accused. She wished she had another shoe to throw at him. "You were thinking I'm shallow and stupid and only think of myself. You were thinking I'm just a pretty face with my own credit cards. I know I'm not a genius, but even I can see that for someone who wants to save the world, you're doing a crappy job. You say you want to help people, but instead you're making the people you're supposed to care about miserable." A sour note rankled. "Except for Daddy!"

Cody's hand loosened from her shoulder to hang limply at his side. He stood in front her, looking at the floor, and opened his mouth a couple of times, but no words came out.

London tapped her foot as she waited for him to say something. The outburst had left her frazzled and exposed, as though her dress had shrunk into a scrap of fabric that barely covered her. How alien it felt to lash out at him, to despise him like this. What did she want from Cody, anyway? To say she was right and he was a selfish bastard? To disagree and claim he had a rational explanation for his despicable personality transplant?

"You're right, London," he said at length. "I've fucked up everything."

"Damn right you have!" Her fury regained momentum. "I know things were hard for you when we thought Zombie was dead, and I may not be super-good at being emotionally supportive, but I've really tried to be there for you. I took you back because I loved you and because I couldn't stand to see you so sad. I thought life would go back to normal after he came home, but you're still pushing me away. If I wanted this kind of relationship, I'd just try to hang out with Daddy more."

"London, I've been pushing everyone away."

"Well, _duh_."

Cody hung his head in suitable shame.

"Why can't..." She stumbled over the question, racking her vocabulary. "Why can't you just be the nice, fun guy you used to be?" There, she'd said it. That was exactly what she wanted. She wanted Cody to be the same man he'd been when she agreed to marry him, with no fear or hesitation. Someone kind and patient, who listened to her and took her seriously, and made time for her, no matter how busy he was, or how often he had to travel. The man of her dreams. As cheesy as it sounded, it was the truth.

As she glared at him, she saw no traces of Cody's boardroom bravado. Letting out a sigh, he said quietly, "I don't know. My head has been in a fog ever since that day. After the army told us Zack was dead, I just couldn't deal with anything. Not the wedding, not my parents, not anything. Everyone thought I was crazy to think he was still alive, including me. I broke down, I even didn't know who I was. It was like I'd lost a huge part of myself, it's not something I can put into words. The closest thing I can think of is that it was like having my arm or leg cut off, but really, that doesn't even come close to describing how I felt. I didn't want to talk about it, to anybody, because I didn't want it to be real."

Cody's pain was becoming her pain, outside of her control, so that she was compelled to console him for both of their sakes. "He's not my brother, but he is my friend," she said, not too maliciously. "You weren't the only one missing him. You weren't alone."

Cody sighed again, a broken, hollow sound. "I know, I should have realized that. I've been a total ass, and I'm sorry. What can I do to fix this?" He looked pleadingly at her. "Zack wants to go back to war and I may lose him again. I can't lose you, too."

Dismay deflated more of her anger. "Zombie's leaving?"

"Maybe," Cody said with a slight nod. "He got an offer to join a special counter-terrorist unit. He really wants to take it."

Kyle's assumption that Zack hated his new job at TMI sprung to mind. "Maybe he just doesn't want to be your bodyguard anymore," she put forward.

"Yeah, that probably wasn't the best idea." Cody's shoulders lifted, then sank in a defeated motion. "I was just trying to help him out, although I guess I was mainly trying to help myself. Now I feel like it's all my fault that he wants to leave. Even though he says it's not about me."

_Not about me?_ Where had she heard that before? She felt something hot squeezing her chest. "Well, now you know how it feels," she retorted.

Cody looked at her, his face a question mark.

"When you ran away after the fake wake, Maddie kept saying it wasn't about me, that you loved me and you'd come home. I wanted to believe she was right, since she usually is, but, Cody, you missed our wedding. Our wedding that we'd planned for a year." London's voice quavered and quaked, and she crossed her arms tighter to hold herself together. "I couldn't stop thinking deep down in my heart that you left because you didn't want to marry me. Because I wasn't smart enough for you." She hadn't confessed this secret dread to anyone, even Maddie herself. Her best friend would have lied through her teeth to spare her feelings. If Cody gave any indication that her fears weren't unfounded, she would have no choice but to leave now. She could not tolerate being looked down upon, not by the man who used to make her feel like so much more than a simple-minded socialite. Kyle Lawford's simpering gratitude would be better than Cody Martin's benevolent disdain.

A spasm contracted Cody's face. He seized her arms, imploring, "Angel, no, it had nothing to do with you, or your intelligence. Nothing at all. Please, what can I do to make this up to you?"

_Make him pay_, hissed a voice in her ear. It sounded startlingly like Portia Tenenbaum. Once upon a time, London realized, she would have made the most of such an offer. She would have demanded multi-carat jewels, designer wardrobes, and vacations to five-star resorts of her choice, anywhere in the world. Tonight she decided to try a different approach.

Channeling the famous Tipton strength, the same force that had spurred Daddy to build his empire, she steadied her voice and made her requests. "Tell me you'll always be there for me. Tell me you're not turning into my father."

Cody kneeled before her and took hold of her hands. "I'll never show up late for your birthday, or cancel plans for Christmas or Hanukkah," he told her, tears filling his eyes. "I'll never disappear on you again. And I'll never back out of any father-daughter dances."

He'd said all the right things, but one detail stood out more than any promise could. Casting aside all worries about wrinkling her new dress, London kneeled down to join him. "I know you mean it," she sobbed, "because your nose isn't crinkling."

Their fingers meshed together and Cody drew her hands closer to him so that her knuckles touched his chin. "London, I am so, so sorry. I won't let you down again." Slowly he let go of her hands and moved them to the small of her back.

London succumbed to his embrace and buried her face in his chest, her eyes closing against the softness of his Prada sweater vest. The cashmere smelled of salt and ocean air, like a honeymoon would, fused with his signature Armani scent. She brought her hands up to his shoulder blades. She could feel their outlines through two layers of clothing. Gradually she relaxed, readjusting to the contours of his body. Their breathing synchronized.

After several moments, Cody began to stir in her arms. "London..." she heard him murmur. The light touch of his fingers brushing aside her hair and his lips, first on her ear lobe and then on the base of her neck, set off tantalizing ripples. Exhaling, eyes half-closed, she turned her head and he kissed her eyelids. She couldn't help but laugh at the green eye shadow and mascara sludge smeared on his mouth, but before she could wipe it off, his lips grazed hers, tenderness giving way to passion, then urgency.

London fell into the kiss like a thirsty girl into an Evian fountain. Her tummy quivered. How many thousands of times had she kissed Cody since that first magic kiss at the 2009 New Year's Eve party on the _S.S. Tipton_? Almost 10 years later, he still gave her butterflies. Majestic rainbow-coloured butterflies with gold-lined wings and diamond eyes.

"Baby, you're so beautiful. I love you so much." The whisper ended in a moan. His hands were at her waist, moving lower. "I miss you, I need you."

"I know," she whispered back.

Without breaking the kiss, Cody pulled her to her feet and swung her up in his arms. London flushed with excitement as he stepped away from the door. She was a princess being carried off to bed by her knight in shining armour. Just the way it should be.

By the time Cody threw back the covers on their bed and laid her down on it, she couldn't drag the sweater vest and dress shirt over his head fast enough.

"Oh, just rip it off," she panted as Cody started to unfasten the trail of hooks on her dress, one by painstaking one.

Cody paused. "Sweetie, are you sure?" he asked doubtfully, looking down at the brand-new $10,000 garment.

She couldn't be bothered to deliberate. _It's so time for a merger, and not the hostile kind._ Dipping into the Tipton strength once more, she declared bravely, "What the hell, it's only an Arturo Vitalli."

Hooks scattered in all directions as moments later the dress joined the other clothes on the floor.

"Yay, you!" she shouted, clapping her hands gleefully before returning them to his bare chest.

"Yay, me," Cody agreed. He brought his mouth to hers and ran the tip of his tongue over her lips, making the rest of her body ache. "Definitely yay, me."

[***]

London's arms and legs felt like jelly. The most exclusive brand of gourmet cloudberry jelly imported straight from Sweden. Her brain was swaddled in cotton wool. She opened her eyes to bask in the morning sun beaming through the bedroom skylight. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, wiggled her toes and arched her back, as she waited for Cody to nuzzle her.

Cody's side of the bed was empty. The discovery paralyzed her. _Oh my God, where is he? Did I cave in too quickly?_ _Am I just being a fool?_

An odd smell tickled her nostrils, distracting her from her worries.

_Is something burning? No, that's not it._ Mystified, London sat up and scratched her head. The smell was like a throwback to another era. She couldn't put her finger on it. In her fuchsia silk bathrobe, she followed the smell out of the bedroom and down the long hallway.

When she found herself outside the kitchen, she could have pulled a feather out of her organic goose down pillow and knocked herself over with it.

Cody was standing barefoot at the stove—possibly the least-used room in the entire penthouse suite—and he seemed to be frying something. As Chef Paolo's one-time protégé, Cody had been renowned for his cooking skills. He had even taught Home Ec classes for a semester on the _S.S. Tipton_. But ever since his career at Tipton Industries had taken off, they had dined exclusively on room service or at their favourite restaurants.

"Morning, sunshine," he said cheerfully when he saw her standing by the door.

"What's all this?" London asked.

He gave her a rueful grin, with a touch of smugness. "I was going to bring you breakfast in bed. I didn't think you'd be up yet." He pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, set with cutlery and a glass of orange juice. "Here, sit down."

The last time she'd sat at this table was too long ago to remember. Maybe she was still asleep and this was just a dream.

"Don't worry, I used a low-fat recipe." Cody placed a plate piled with pancakes and sliced strawberries in front of her.

"Thanks." She drank in his morning-after appearance as he sat across from her. Tousled hair and light stubble. A healthy glow on his cheeks. His eyes a cornflower blue from the navy Armani bathrobe she'd given him years ago. Only the dark circles underneath his eyes hinted he might not have slept well.

London took a cautious bite. Her tastebuds trilled with delight. "Wow, this is delicious."

"So, I've been thinking..." Cody began in a hesitant tone, eyes flicking to the tabletop, as she continued to chew.

Warning bells clanged through the strands of cotton lingering in her head. _Uh oh, now what?_ Just eating a home-cooked breakfast was practically an out-of-body experience. After their huge fight, and with everything else that had happened since Thursday, she didn't think she could handle more bombshells.

The brief silence ended with Cody saying, "After the St. Mark takeover goes through, I'm going to take some time off work."

"How much time?" she asked suspiciously. In an instant she saw a split-level house with a white picket fence. The vision of suburbia made her blood run cold. "You're not going to quit your job, are you?" To clarify, she added, "I do like that you have a big-deal job. I just need to know that we can spend at least _some_ time together."

Cody laughed reassuringly, rolling his eyes. "No, London, I'm not going to quit my job. I was thinking more like a couple of weeks at the space resort. Just you and me."

Able to breathe again, she leaned over to kiss him. "Oh, that sounds perfect. As long as I'm here for the November fundraising dinner." _Wait a minute_... Last night Cody had implied she only cared about throwing parties. She would _show_ him she had other interests. "You know, we don't have to hold all these fundraising events if you think they're a waste of money. There are other ways to fundraise. I've done my research."

Shaking his head, Cody said, "No, it's not that. Your fundraisers are legendary. You're doing an amazing job, and I should have told you that. I just... I just don't know if this whole peace foundation actually does any good after all."

In spite of the long-awaited praise, London felt her jaw drop. Had Cody slipped on grapes at the vineyard and hit his head? "Cody, what are you talking about? The organizations we support do great stuff. I'll get Millicent to send you the brochures and annual reports." Her hand darted for the BlackBerry in the pocket of her bathrobe.

"I know, it's just that... well, Zack makes a real difference. He's saved people's lives. He's not afraid to get his hands dirty. Compared to him. I'm just some overpaid jerk sitting in a penthouse writing cheques so that the rest of the world won't resent me." With his elbows leaning on the table, her fiancé—if he could still be called that—looked less like the New Face of Corporate America and more like an unhappy 12-year-old, the age he'd been when he moved to the Tipton, long before she had any clue how important he would become to her, to Daddy and to the future of Tipton Industries.

In the 14 years since then, London had seen the twins squabble over an ambassador's daughter, run against each for middle school president (ironically she had supported Zack), compete to impress Moseby in Wilderness Scouts and Creepy Wayne at the Paul Revere Mini-Mart, and pit themselves against each other in countless other ways. "But you and Zack have always competed over stuff," she said gently. "Isn't that what brothers do?"

"Yeah, I guess. Maybe I'm just overreacting." He cracked a wan smile and took a sip of her orange juice. "Another reason why I need time off work."

It was happening again. Her heart was going out to Cody. _I'd rather be in love with him than not. His happiness means everything to me. _She reached out to put her hand over his, feeling the sharp bones of his wrist. "Or maybe you need to find something that really matters to you."

Their fingers entwined. "Well, I told Zack that we'd name a scholarship after his best friend, Tommy Delgado, who died in the helicopter crash," Cody said. "Mostly I said it so that he wouldn't leave, but I still want to do this, even if he does join that counter-terrorist unit. I owe him that much."

Those blue names were seared into her memory, along with thoughts of their families mourning exactly as her own had, except for them there could be no hope of a happy Hollywood ending. The wheels began to turn in her head, like a Ferrari revving up for a race, taking her by surprise with their speed. "How about a scholarship for kids whose parents were killed in terrorist attacks?" she suggested. "Or refugee kids who wouldn't get to go to college or university otherwise?"

This time Cody smiled broadly at her. Cute little dents appeared in the corners of his mouth. "Those are great ideas."

"Really?" she asked.

He nodded. "Hey, would you want to organize a scholarship committee for the Foundation?"

"Sure, I could do that." As soon as she spoke the words, she believed them. A flurry of butterfly wings started to flap.

"You could probably get Kyle on board. He loves this sort of thing."

Feeling the warm strength of his fingers interlocked with hers, she met his gaze squarely. "No, I'll work with Brandi. We make a good team."

Amid the butterflies, her stomach sent a warning signal to her brain that welded her butt to the chair. Trying to sound casual, though it was the furthest state from what she felt just then, she asked, "Does this mean the wedding is back on? Because I can't spend any more of my life waiting for you."

* * *

Cody knew he wouldn't get a second chance to answer the question. He was already on his third chance and would need to take full advantage of the charm allotted to the proverbial third time.

The ring was in his pocket. Rather than waste time kicking himself, he'd retrieved it from the floor seconds after London stormed out of her closet. But yesterday night already seemed like a twisted, confused detour. There was no point looking to the past because the future was right here. They could move forward at last.

_No time like the present_. Wilfrid's motto had a wide range of applications.

He took out the ring now and held it out to her, looking deeply into her alluring brown eyes, his own personal sky. "London Leah Tipton," he proclaimed, hearing the certainty in his voice as he spoke each element of her name, "will you marry me?"

He held his breath and, giving himself over to the nerve-wracking anticipation, closed his eyes.

When he dared to open them, he saw a beautifully polished finger poised close to his lips. "Hold that thought."

And then she was jabbing furiously at her BlackBerry and his eardrums were rent by screams of "MILLICENT! Code W! _Code W_!"

The screams continued as she rushed from the kitchen. They were soon mixed with sounds of breaking glass, ringing out from an indistinct location within the penthouse.

Within a few seconds London reappeared in the kitchen, red-cheeked and sweaty, her hair curling around her face in a wild cloud. In her hands she held a wooden mallet.

"Yes," she said breathlessly. "I'll marry you."

Cody blinked at her, dumbstruck. _What just happened?

* * *

_

**A/N: Will London's long-hidden wedding dress, as mentioned in Chapters 2 and 12, finally see the light of day? Much thanks to Waldojeffers and Woundedhearts for research assistance, and as always, heaps of thanks to you guys for reading and reviewing. Xoxoxo – Ellie**


	30. Saved by the BlackBerry

**A/N: Here's Chapter 29. Always thanks, thanks for your reviews to the last chapter.

* * *

**

**Chapter 29: Saved by the BlackBerry

* * *

**

_Everyday is a winding road  
I get a little bit closer  
Everyday is a faded sign  
I get a little bit closer_

_Sheryl Crow, "Everyday is a Winding Road"_

[-]

**FRIDAY, OCTOBER 5, 2019**

"Uh huh." Zack nodded, teeth gritted. _I have killed people for less. I could strangle him with his own tie._ While he prided himself on his ability to shut out unpleasant noise, the glassy-eyed monotone of the Establishment Puppet, aka Maddie's husband, required all of his energy reserves to muffle. Trevor Bristow seemed to think he was performing a public service by giving him a state-by-state account of numbers from the mid-term election he'd missed in 2018. After five minutes of pasted-on politeness, his molars were beginning to ache.

As Trevor droned on and a string quartet played live Muzak, Zack took a sip from his glass of mineral water and cast his gaze over the banquet room. The refined space on the 10th floor of the Tipton had oak wall panels, glass chandeliers, and windows facing the office lights of downtown. The ceiling was plastered with leafy swirls.

Was anyone else having such a crappy time at tonight's "re-engagement" party?

The turnout was pretty spectacular for only three days' notice—proof that overachievers were just whining when they claimed that life at the top was so lonely. At least 100 people had showed up to celebrate that his twin brother and almost-sister-in-law had renewed their decision to get married. As they circulated the room, presenting a united front to social climbers, colleagues, and friends (minus the Mosebys, due to the double dose of chickenpox), Zack knew he was happy for them. London and Cody had often struck him as an odd couple, with too many differences to work out in the long run, but they had grown on each other over the years in ways he hadn't been around to see. Now they belonged to each other, for better or for worse, with their shared goals, values, butler, and habit of splurging just because they could. Ultimately, the heiress needed someone to adore her, and Cody needed someone to keep his head screwed on straight. And, he guessed, Cody had realized the emptiness inside wasn't worth it, not when someone longed to fill it.

Next to the Foundation's anniversary gala, the last party Zack had been to was the 26th birthday bash in the grand ballroom, where he'd spent most of the night in the kitchen. Three months hadn't changed how he felt about large crowds. They had never fazed him before. Why should they now? He didn't have an answer for that. Maybe he just needed more time. "Talk to your family and friends at your own time and pace," Dr. Giffin had advised. The psychiatrist at the VA hospital in Delaware had given him an excellent prognosis for overcoming post-traumatic stress disorder. Four weeks of intensive prolonged exposure therapy—visualizing and re-creating every detail of the helicopter crash and months in prison—had convinced Zack that he would never want or need to talk about any of it again. Telling Cody as much as he had should have derailed this progress, but so far he hadn't had any nightmares about Tommy's death since Saturday morning in L.A., when he'd woken to find his loot bag from Woody missing. Another reason to celebrate—the lack of nightmares, not the other loss.

Zack snickered inwardly to Tommy. _See, bro, I still have a sense of humour._

Disjointed conversations were breaking through his mental barriers, a muddle of stock tips, golf tips, vacation tips, wine tips. Trevor's lips were still moving.

"Yeah, how about that?" Zack commented obliviously. He swigged from his glass and ground an ice cube between his teeth. _This shindig would be tolerable if I were here to guard a diplomat, or at least assassinate someone_.

The golden couple wandered into view, holding hands, Cody in a standard dark blue suit and the bride-to-be wearing a black feathered dress that would have looked outlandish on anyone else. Together they browsed the buffet tables set up in the centre of the room. The selection of appetizers, salads, exotic fruits and dips, and desserts rivalled the unforgettable buffets on the _S.S. Tipton _that had nearly cost Woody his life. As Zack watched, London fed a cupcake into Cody's mouth, both of them giggling like lovesick teenagers. She had worked her make-up magic on Cody's face, he noted with a semi-pang of guilt. The bruise was completely invisible.

_Invisible._

Zack had signed a contract to become invisible when he joined Delta Force in December 2017. He and Tommy had willingly traded in glory and recognition for the silent professionalism that went along with doing America's most important work, stealthily and behind the scenes. Being trapped in a corner of a banquet room at the Tipton, with an annoying politician-wannabe in his face, was not the kind of invisibility he'd had in mind. Being a footnote in Cody's rise to corporate stardom was _definitely_ not what he'd had in mind. Ever. But his brother's emotional breakdown in L.A. had kicked off another round of this never-ending guilt trip. All he could do for now was smile and sell it. Smile and sell it and wish he were drinking something stronger than mineral water, except that he was also trapped by Dr. Giffin's warning that post-traumatic stress disorder and alcohol abuse went hand in hand.

He heaved a sigh as Trevor rambled about controversial results in Florida. _Figures_.

It was 1915. He'd been at the party for half an hour. In another half hour or so he could consider his brotherly appearance fulfilled and get out of here. What was there to do in Boston on a Friday night?

The desk in his suite on the 23rd floor (where else?) groaned under the weight of course calendars from all 100 colleges and universities in Boston. He'd barely browsed through any of them. Accounting, astronomy, automotive repair, biomedical engineering, business administration, creative writing, culinary arts... _Pick a card, any card_... Millicent had delivered them in batches all week, in between running wedding errands, on strict orders from London. He'd received a phone call from the heiress on Tuesday morning right after Cody had left for work. "Look, Zombie," she'd huffed, "I know your heart is in the right place, but Cody needs you to be here to be his best man. Just think about that." "I was," he'd replied, too defensively. "I am." Putting his heart in the right place also meant not talking to his parents about his various options for the future. He'd already disrupted their European tour once. _And let's face it, at their age, they're lucky to have singing careers at all._ No, he wouldn't tell them anything just yet. He couldn't handle hysterics from his mom.

An alternative to his suite was the hotel's state-of-the art fitness centre. Lately he'd been spending more time there than on the 23rd floor, striving to recover his coveted military physique. He loved being ripped. It had been one of his deepest sources of pride before malnutrition got in the way. Task Force 141 required the fitness level of a professional athlete. Soap had left him a voicemail yesterday reminding him of the Task Force's rigorous entrance test. _Good old Soap._

Zack glanced at the banquet room's clock again. 1920. Not yet morning in Tajikistan. In a few hours Farshad would send an IM request to his Yahoo account to talk about the Sox's chances of winning the World Series. The army had compensated the Nazarov family for assisting him, and so far they had bought a home entertainment system and a computer with Internet access via a satellite connection. A different reason to keep using that old email address.

"Spring rolls?" asked a server, holding out a tray of tiny bundles and a fan of napkins.

Trevor helped himself, but Zack declined. The spring rolls were mostly rice. He still couldn't stomach rice.

Over Trevor's shoulder, Maddie suddenly swam into focus, ordering a glass of wine at the open bar. She looked incredibly hot in a low-cut, fire engine–red dress, with her hair piled on top of her head. The style emphasized how her slender neck was built for kissing.

Zack's memory cycled back to the night of the 26th birthday party, when she'd been his for the taking and he'd chosen not to back-stab this excruciatingly dull man.

_Dude, what were you thinking?_

When Maddie turned around, glass in hand, she spotted him watching her and waved. Noticing that her husband was talking at him, she rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and gave a little laugh that he was too far away to hear. As she started to leave the bar, he felt his gaze affixed to her, an awakening of the hunter instinct. Drool puddled around his tongue. The muted din of the party receded like smoke in a breeze. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

_Damn, she looks just like that blonde in _Debutante Debauchery 3. The kitchen incident superimposed itself onto a highly memorable scene featuring a chef's hat, a spatula and a Halley's Comet... Maddie on the counter, slinking toward him on all fours, with a floppy white hat perched on her head.

Had a chef's hat ever looked so sexy? He didn't think so.

As she peered up at him, her brown eyes half-lidded behind that curtain of silky hair, the skinny straps of her dress slid freely off her shoulders, unhampered by stupid designer clasps. He leaned against the counter so that her arms could snake around him from behind.

"Hey, sweet thang," she whispered, her mouth hot on his neck, the syllables breathy and sensual as they rolled off her tongue and into the archives of his 15-year-old mind, "let me have you one more time..."

She unbuttoned his shirt and began to lap at his collarbone, causing him to shudder all the way to his toes. He couldn't wait for her to devour him. Her hands were moving down past the waistband of his jeans, unzipping the fly, reaching inside...

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The buzz of a BlackBerry crashed into the fantasy like a face full of cold shower, knocking him off balance. Maddie was gone from sight, and the cacophony of cocktail chatter returned, several decibels louder than when he'd arrived.

It took Zack a moment to wrap his head around the fact that the buzz had come from his own TMI BlackBerry. "Um, gotta get this," he muttered in Trevor's general direction. Fantasizing about another guy's wife, when he was standing right there, was only marginally awkward if the guy was excruciatingly dull and aspired to be a politician.

Turning aside, Zack wrenched the BlackBerry from the front pocket of his jeans. The blinking envelope icon indicated that he'd received a text message. _What the fuck now?_

He clicked open the text.

Blood rushed back to his head like a centrifugal force. His knees went weak. He almost dropped the BlackBerry.

Ben Geller had sent the text.

_Hey Zack,_

_Here's the info you requested. _

_Cheers,_

_Ben_

_Bailey Suzanne Pickett  
1800A South Bonham Street  
Amarillo, TX 79102  
806-555-1231  
bsp14 at commail dot com_

Stunned, he read the message again. Then reread it. Bailey? Bailey. _Bailey_. _Bailey_ _Pickett_. _Pickett._

_What does that mean?_ The question turned his head into a swirling vortex of worst-case scenarios. _What if she has a husband but kept her last name? She could be disgustingly, blissfully married. Or she could be single, but she could have gained like 300 pounds. Or what if she doesn't remember me? Nah, she'd remember _me_. Maybe she left me because she's a lesbian. What if I show up and her butch lover comes out and starts kicking me with her steel toes? Man, I'd never live it down if I got beat up by a butch woman with a mullet and steel toes. Or what if Bailey is the butch lover with a mullet and steel toes..._

_No, no, no._ _NO._ Zack gave himself a mental slap before his irrational fears escalated into full-blown panic. He was shaking all over, his heart beating like a jackhammer so loudly Trevor could probably hear it. He had to calm down.

Registering that his throat had gone dry and the heat from his hand had melted the last few ice cubes, Zack chugged the rest of his water. The centrifugal force diminished. Regular breathing recommenced. And happily, he saw that Maddie's husband had moved on to accost a stocky dark-haired man whom he'd seen shooting disgruntled looks at London and Cody earlier in the evening.

Zack set his empty glass on a cocktail table and rubbed his forehead. _I can't believe it, Ben found her._ _He actually found her._ Equilibrium regained, he read the message once more. The BlackBerry was still fused to his hand. _So apparently he hadn't tried "everything he could" when he stood me up last week... hmmm..._ He felt his brow furrowing on its own, his eyes narrowing, as the hunter instinct reared up again. But rather than a tiger on the prowl, now he was a sharpshooter. With a moving target.

_I smell a rat. An Armani-clad rat._

His eyes swivelled across the sea of faces, each one indistinguishable from the next, until one stood out.

[***]

Cody's mouth was veering toward London's when Zack elbowed himself between them to swing an arm around London's feathery shoulders. "Great party, Lon," he said and squeezed her to him. "You always know how it's done." He gave her a light kiss on the cheek, relishing the miffed expression that de-puckered Cody's lips.

The heiress clapped her hands endearingly. "Yay me!"

Zack kept his arm around his soon-to-be-sister-in-law. "Congratulations again on the re-engagement. Now, if you don't mind, I need to steal him for a bit." Before London could grant permission, he gestured to his brother. "C'mon, Cody, let's go for a walk." He held out the Armani suit jacket that been hanging on a nearby chair. "Here's your jacket, it's cold outside."

"No, it's not."

"Yes," said Zack firmly. "It is."

"Well, thanks." Cody shrugged into his jacket.

Zack waited until they had left the banquet room to start a conversation. Shaping his mouth into a broad, appeasing grin, he turned to Cody and informed him, "Guess what? Ben just texted me Bailey's contact info. It took him a while, but he finally came through. And she's still Bailey Pickett."

"Hey, that's great, man," Cody said in a remarkably genial tone.

The elevator arrived and Zack pressed "L" for lobby. "So, Maddie was right when she said Ben is the best corporate investigator there is. He really can find out anything about anyone." Grin cemented to his face, left eyebrow arched to his hairline, he scrutinized Cody's mirror-like features for signs of discord. Up close, he could see the faintest outline of peach-coloured concealer expertly smudged along Cody's jaw-line.

"Well, that's why we employ him. He does have an optimal track record." Cody let out a casual laugh, eyes unblinking. "He's been really snowed under since the St. Mark takeover went into overdrive... Wilf wants to make sure there aren't too many skeletons in Jim's closet. And of course there was that emergency thing with the Special Markets division, too."

"Yeah, I remember," Zack said pointedly. Growing up, Cody had been the worst liar. The high-stakes realm of spice racks, cocktail sticks, and hostile takeovers had evidently taught his upstanding brother a thing or two about honesty being the best policy. Zack had to give him props for that. Almost.

"So where is she?"

"Amarillo, Texas."

Cody's eyes widened ever so slightly. The movement probably wouldn't have been perceptible to someone who didn't know his brother as well as Zack did. "Um, th-that's n-nice," he stuttered. His nostrils twitched then, and he raked a hand through his hair.

_Busted. I know what that crinkly, twitchy nose thing means._

Before an uneasy silence could pervade the elevator, the doors opened onto the lobby where Skippy was on night duty and the usual throng of guests convened. Zack headed straight for the revolving doors, knowing Cody would follow.

"So, are you going to go see her?" Cody asked when they were standing on the hotel steps, near the tree pot so perfect for hiding backpacks. White party lights decorated the trees and ivy that ornamented the hotel's main entrance.

Zack nodded. The decision had taken up residence in his heart months ago, and now he had the background intelligence he needed. "This is just something I have to do," he said simply. He couldn't explain it any other way.

Cody nodded in response, the corners of his mouth creasing into a small smile. "I understand. You can take the private jet, if you want."

"Thanks, man. I'll be back in time for the wedding, so no worries about that." Zack offered a mild punch to Cody's upper arm. "I still owe you a helluva bachelor party."

"Yeah, I guess you do. Well, good luck, Zack." Cody stuck out a hand like he was closing a business deal.

The formality seemed ridiculous. Zack pushed aside Cody's hand and opened his arms wide. "Come here, you big bleeding heart capitalist." It was nicest compliment he could think of for Cody.

Cody's face crumpled. "I love you, man," he said and engulfed Zack in a hug.

"I love you, too," Zack said gruffly. He thumped his hand on Cody's back a few times. "The world needs more people like you." It was crazy how he and Cody had been fighting the same battle all these years, yet on opposite sides. Did either of them do more to make the world a better place? Another question that Zack didn't have an answer for. But at that moment, he really didn't care. Cody would always be his best friend, his one flesh and blood brother.

When they separated, Zack's ribs hurt and Cody's eyes were brimming with tears. It was time to go before things got too emotional. Zack pulled the omnipresent hanky out of Cody's breast pocket and shoved it at him, scoffing, "Dude, you are getting way too sappy in your old age. I'm only going to Texas, not the Middle East."

"But don't they have just as many guns?" Cody sniffled, taking the hanky.

Rolling his eyes at Cody's overprotectiveness, Zack said, "That's just for show. Anyway, have fun at the Tipton space resort. Make sure you actually _do_ take time off." The ups and downs of the past year had stream-rolled over his brother's stress threshold. A break from work, with London at his side, would do Cody good. He wagged a scolding finger. "And don't bring the CrackBerry with you."

"I'll try." Cody smiled dolefully. "Take care, Zack."

"You, too, bro." Zack bumped his fist against Cody's, then lifted his hand to the fixture at the revolving doors. "Bye, Norman."

"Good-bye, Mr. Martin," came the solemn reply.

With a final wave to Cody, Zack climbed into the backseat of a cab idling at the curb.

"To Logan," he told the driver.

* * *

_Wow, that happened really fast._ Cody watched the cab maneuver into the evening traffic on St. James Avenue, dabbing at his eyes with the hanky and biting his lower lip. _Do not cry_, he ordered himself. _You'll mess up your make-up. Damn, I never thought I'd be saying that again. _

Calling Ben Geller from L.A. on Sunday morning had been the right thing to do. No doubt about that. As for whether or not he'd set another Really Bad Plan in motion, it was too early to tell._ My brother deserves to be happy after all the hell he's been though. I just hope Bailey realizes that. Maybe she will turn out to be his dream girl from Texas. How ironic would that be? But thank God he's not going off to join Task Force 141. I couldn't deal with that, I just couldn't. I need my brother to stay alive._

As the moments ticked by, he knew he had to get back to the banquet room. His fiancée could be on the verge of organizing a different kind of party—a search party. Swiping at his eyes one last time, he folded the hanky into a flat pocket square, precisely how Mr. Moseby—Marion—had coached him, and slipped it into his breast pocket with four spiffy points facing up.

_What the...?_ Something was missing. Cody slapped his hands over his chest, then his sides, needles of apprehension poking at him.

The rectangular shape in his left side pocket elicited a deep sigh of relief. He yanked out his wallet and whipped it open. The pocket just above his driver's license mocked him already. "_Thanks, bro!_" he read from the scrap of napkin inserted there.

"Son of a–!" Cody yelled out at the long-gone cab.

* * *

When the cab coasted to a stop at a red light, a few streets away from the Tipton, Zack glanced up seeking the green light at the left-hand side of the intersection.

His adrenaline switch flipped on instantly. Just across the street lay a brand spanking new Harley-Davidson motorcycle dealership. The showroom lights illuminated an oasis of testosterone-fuelled machines dripping with chrome, leather, and impressive amounts of engine torque. Many for relatively large amounts of money.

But that didn't matter thanks to the thin piece of black American Express plastic he was twiddling between his fingers. Through the window, he could see a sales clerk polishing the handlebars of a particularly beefy boulevard cruiser, making them gleam even more enticingly.

Amarillo was in northern Texas, hundreds of miles from Boston—hundreds of miles of free, open road to cruise with nothing but the engine roar beneath him and the wind in his face.

Zack's eyes flicked from the amber light to the red one directly in front of the cab. He checked his watch. It was 1955, five minutes to closing time most likely.

_Must optimize chances for success. Must wow her._

Taking a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket, he tapped the cab driver on the shoulder. "Actually, you know what, just pull over here."

* * *

**A/N: And thus Cody loses another cash card to Zack, but perhaps he deserved it this time? Let me know your thoughts :) Thanks for reading and reviewing. Love from Ellie – Xoxoxo**

**P.S. As far as I know, SLOD hasn't given Bailey a middle name. I just made up "Suzanne" because it sounds country-ish. **

**P.P.S. The CP/BF is not a fan of Zac Efron, but I think he is very cute.**


	31. A Girl in Amarillo

**A/N: At (long) last, here is the chapter that contains the very first scene I drafted for this tale. I invite you to guess which one it is. DC World, you know which parts are for you. Thanks again for the inspiration! And Happy Easter to all you guys who celebrate it. I hope the Easter Bunny brings/brought you all the chocolate eggs you could ever hope for.

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**Chapter 30: A Girl in Amarillo

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_A girl in Amarillo  
'Bout as sweet as rum_

_Melissa McClelland, "Passenger 24"_

[-]

**SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 2019**

If Bailey Pickett hadn't been wearing her gardening gloves, she might have lost a finger when she dropped the hedge trimmers.

For the past two hours, she had been mulching flower beds and planting chrysanthemums in her front yard. The lovely golden-orange colour of their petals matched her mood as she covered up their roots and patted the soil around them. Gardening had been Dr. Coulter's idea. Bailey had always been an outdoor person—practically a requirement for someone who grew up on a farm—but with a passion for fauna, not flora. At 25, having earned her bachelor's in agriculture with a major in animal science, she had opened her mind to the dazzling variety of flowers, shrubs, and trees at the local nursery. Gardening had since become her hobby, her ultimate cure-all. Tending to plants gave her a tremendous sense of satisfaction and helped her feel connected to nature.

Glorious October sunshine highlighted the flowers as she stood up to survey her afternoon's labour, humming to herself. The mums complemented the purple asters she'd bought the previous weekend. The pink blossoms on the rose bushes she'd planted in the spring were clinging to their last blush. Fall smelled so different in Texas than it did in Kansas—warmer, spicier, without the crisp undertone of snow. Of the many things she missed about Kansas, she was sure prairie winters would not be one of them. After six months, the little red brick house at 1800A South Bonham Street was beginning to feel like home.

Bailey rolled up the bag of organic mulch and wiped her hands on her denim overalls. The light breeze had blown her bangs into her eyes, so she shook out her long brown hair and scraped it back into another lazy ponytail. Sliding her hands into her trusty gloves, she picked up the hedge trimmers and headed over to the four-foot hedge that separated her property from the neighbours'. She continued to hum as she worked, pruning away any branches that had grown unruly during the week.

October 2019 bore little resemblance to October 2018, a period when everything had seemed grey and cheerless. Her older brother Brad had had the best of intentions when he waited until the day after her convocation ceremony at Kansas State University in early September to show her the newspaper announcement. He'd found it in Fayetteville, North Carolina, where he lived.

The two of them had been sitting at their parents' kitchen table in Kettlecorn when he brought it out. "Here, this is from the Fort Bragg paper. I happened to see it at a buddy's house," he said. "I thought it might help give you closure. I know these past few weeks have been kind of rough for you after getting that email out of the blue."

Wordlessly she took the newspaper clipping from him. It was an obituary.

_Sergeant First Class Zackary Martin, 25, killed in action on July 3, 2018 while serving as an Assault Team Member, United States Army Special Operations Command, with the Joint U.S.–European Forces near Termiz, Uzbekistan. Based at U.S. Army Garrison Stuttgart, Germany, Sergeant First Class Martin joined USASOC in 2014 after three years in the U.S. Marine Corps. He is survived by his parents Carey and Kurt and brother Cody._

The missing information drove like a skewer right through the centre of her. Her lungs went rigid with pain. For several seconds she couldn't breathe. _He is survived by his parents Carey and Kurt, brother Cody and son Connor. That's what it should say._

"Bales, are you OK?" She felt Brad's hand over hers. "Have I totally messed up by showing you this? Like that time I set your hair on fire at our annual bonfire?" She'd refused to speak to him for almost six months after that incident. As adults, though, they laughed about it.

Bailey couldn't laugh that morning, much less think of a reply. Trying to swallow her anguish, she looked to the photograph that accompanied the obituary. There was Zack, an expression of somber arrogance on his face and a green beret angled cockily on his head. The hat suited him. Woody had mentioned in his email that Zack had gone on to Special Forces after the Marines. Neither choice had surprised her. She'd never known anyone as fearless as Zack. Only one person even came close. The photo reminded her of Zack's graduation from Landon Military Academy, when she'd been so proud of him for finishing near the top of his class, in spite of her budding doubts about their future.

Again, she read through the tragic, shocking words, hoping to feel the closure Brad had intended. At last she said the only thought that came to mind. "It doesn't, um, it doesn't mention what Special Forces unit he was with."

Brad nodded. "Yeah, I noticed that. My buddy said it probably means he was in a classified unit."

"A classified unit?"

"You know, the guys who carry out secret missions in the world's most dangerous places. Stuff the government doesn't want us to know about."

Bailey had proceeded to beg Brad to find out more. Against his better judgment, he asked his buddy, an IT worker at Fort Bragg, the massive military base that was home to the Special Forces Group, to do some research as a personal favour. Within a week she had an answer. According to Miguel, who had access to classified servers, Zack had been a soldier in 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta. "In other words, Delta Force," Brad told her. "Guess your ex really was a hero, huh?"

The grief that had festered below the stress of completing her final three courses at K-State bubbled up, drowning her with its intensity. Overnight the structure of her universe caved in. Her emotions became a pendulum swinging haplessly between anger and loneliness, guilt and profound sadness. Instead of looking for a job with the degree that had taken her six years to earn, she moved back in with her parents, which put an immense strain on her marriage. Two months later she was sobbing in the office of Dr. Adelheid Coulter, Kettlepod's only certified grief therapist, "I feel like I killed him myself."

Complicated grief, Dr. Coulter called her symptoms—complicated because Zack had died under violent circumstances, and because she hadn't gone to his funeral, didn't dare reach out to his family, and worst of all, feared she could have prevented his death.

Intellectually, she understood, as Dr. Coulter gently proposed, that sweet, dare-devilish Connor might not have had any effect on Zack's career decisions. Thousands of fathers joined the military every year, even specialized units where returning home was never a sure thing. Many of them were specifically motivated to protect the freedoms their children were lucky enough to take for granted. Wouldn't Zack have had that same desire—to make the world safer for Connor, and for Connor's own children? But he would have done only a couple tours of duty—gotten the itch for adventure out of his system—if a small son had been counting down the days until he was home again. Three tours at most. Wouldn't he?

And yet, rationally speaking, what evidence did she have that Zack would have been part of Connor's life? Would he have wanted to be a father at 18 when he was eager to be all he could be somewhere else? She was the one who'd left him, after all, to start a new life at Yale. But would they have gotten back together if she'd told him she was pregnant? Stayed together? Would she be married to Zack now instead of to Moose? And if she and Zack _had_ stayed together, couldn't she have talked him out of joining Delta Force—absolutely forbidden him to risk his life like that, no matter what his values? As his wife and the mother of his child, wouldn't she have had the right to?

The questions snowballed, short-circuiting her brain, every single one of them unanswerable.

These same questions would surely torment Zack's family if they knew about Connor. Carey and Kurt would never be able to forgive her for keeping such a life-altering secret from their son. As for Cody, she could hardly bear to think of his loss. The fact that they were twins made Zack's death so much worse. Cody would blame her, too—probably more than she blamed herself. How could he not? Zack was his best friend, his other half, the person he was closest to in the world. Thus, she hadn't sent any condolences to the Martins, or even replied to Woody's email. As a compromise, Dr. Coulter encouraged her to write hypothetical letters to them, expressing her sorrow and regret and asking for forgiveness. She emptied her heart into these letters. _Dear Carey and Kurt... Dear Cody..._ The longest ones all began with _Dear Zack..._

And gradually, the clouds began to lift. _Time heals all wounds_. It wasn't just a hoary old cliché offered up by listeners who'd run out of things to say. Life did go on. She owed as much to Dr. Coulter as she did to Connor, who missed his "normal" mommy, someone that played with him at the park and went to parent-teacher conferences and didn't cry everyday. She was also grateful to her parents for their understanding, and for letting her and Connor stay with them. But after raising five boys, they simply didn't have the energy to monitor Connor's roof-climbing antics indefinitely. She had to figure out what to do next.

Her marriage was the other major casualty. She was to Moose what Zack was to her—that first taste of blinding, magical euphoria. She was his "Brown-Eyed Girl," both literally and figuratively. Had she ever really been in love with Moose? The first time around or the second? Moose was pretty much the handsomest guy in Kettlecorn, and he had a good job as a manager at a farm equipment distributor. Being a single mother was a lot harder than she thought it would be. Having a husband eased the burden of juggling parenting with school, plus Connor needed a father figure. _A marriage of convenience._ An even hoarier specimen of cliché. Hence, in February she filed for a no-fault divorce, relinquishing all claims to their house in Topeka, and began applying for jobs in her field.

In April she accepted a position as a technician at a farm animal clinic affiliated with West Texas A&M University and with a loan from Brad, was able to cobble together a down payment on 1800A South Bonham Street in Amarillo. Connor, bless his resilient little heart, settled in nicely at his new school and made friends. The stack of letters now sat in the bottom drawer of her desk, together with the obituary and other mementos from her relationship with Zack. One day, when Connor was old enough, she would show him the obituary and tell him about his real father. She hadn't decided when that would be. He was only seven years old and had just started second grade.

Moose had visited Connor a handful of times since the move, which she appreciated greatly and was probably more than she deserved—although Connor himself hadn't done anything wrong, of course. Hurting Moose like this was not something she'd ever fathomed, and the divorce had become an additional source of guilt. But a fresh start was essential to the healing process. Dr. Coulter had been supportive of all the changes she'd made in her life, and Bailey kept in touch with her. It was a coincidence to be living in the hometown of her onetime alter ego Holly Toledo, aka Cody's dream girl from Texas, but for the most part the strangeness had worn off.

[***]

Bailey was so engrossed in her task that the deep rumble of an engine barely registered in her consciousness.

_Maybe we'll go to the Amarillo Botanical Gardens next weekend_, she pondered as she hummed and trimmed. Connor had no interest in flowers, but he did have a small vegetable plot next to hers in the backyard.

"Hey, sweet thang."

The greeting rustled the outer fringes of her perception like a shadow from the past. A ghostly chill passed through her. Her heart skipped a beat.

That voice, that catchphrase... she hadn't heard either one for more than eight years. How could she possibly be hearing them now, on this quiet sunny afternoon outside her house in Texas?

There was only one way to find out.

Prickles of fear and confusion crawled up her back to her scalp, mingled with hope, as she braced herself and turned around, refusing to imagine what or whom she might see.

Her fingers went slack, and the hedge trimmers fell to the grass at her feet.

Parked behind the hybrid Honda Accord in her driveway was a motorcycle, instantly recognizable as a Harley. A gorgeous, ground-pounding black cruiser with black-laced wheels and a satin chrome finish. The rider, dressed in a leather jacket and dark blue jeans, appeared to have just disembarked. He unstrapped his helmet, set it on the seat and took off his fingertip-less gloves. Then he looked toward her, giving her a full view of his aviator sunglasses and shaggy crop of blond hair.

All the oxygen in her lungs expelled in a single rush. Her knees wobbled and a swooping sensation in her head made her feel like she was inside a bouncy castle, a carnival amusement Connor couldn't get enough of.

_Oh my God, I'm losing my mind. This is the only explanation..._

Or maybe it wasn't, however unlikely the only other explanation could be. _As if proper, sensible Cody Martin would even _think_ about getting on a motorbike._ "You're not..." Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, incapable of molding itself to articulate the question. She tried again. "You're not Cody, are you?"

"Good guess," smirked the rider. He stepped away from the bike.

_No, this can't be happening. I'm hallucinating. I must be._

Taking an exploratory breath, mainly to avoid fainting, she forced out her next question. "But I thought you were..." Her voice tapered off. The word was too painful to say aloud, even with this person standing 10 feet in front of her, the toes of his boots touching her lawn.

"The report of my death was an exaggeration," he said, undeniably smug.

_Mark Twain, word for word._ A giddy schoolgirl giggle escaped her windpipe. "What are you doing here?" she squeaked, blushing.

"I was in the neighbourhood," he replied casually. "Just thought I'd stop by."

The distance between them shrank a little bit more, though she was still rooted to her spot by the hedge. Her nostrils began to tingle from the sublime smell of new leather, with a touch of sweat and exhaust fumes thrown into the mix. A testosterone cocktail, not shaken but stirred.

Her practical side battled to reassert control over her senses. _This is a fantasy, a delusion, a very vivid dream_, it counselled her. _You are going to wake up any second in your bed, in your bedroom. Or in a different kind of room. With white padded walls and no windows._

He was close enough now that she could see the spattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and the tiny adorable mole just above the left side of his upper lip. He was taller, she noticed. _In fact, he must be six feet tall_. The black leather of his jacket stretched across his shoulders, broader than they'd been the last time she saw him, that day in mid-July 2011 when he'd driven her to the bus station in Traverse City, Northern Michigan, and kissed her good-bye even though she had a bad case of strep throat. She'd cried most of the ride home to Kettlepod, unable to shake the feeling that summer had already ended.

A sudden, swift movement returned her to the present. He'd whisked the glove off her left hand. She knew what he was looking for. Nonetheless, she felt a self-conscious twinge over the dirt lining her cuticles.

"Just checking," he said with a grin that made her heart somersault crazily. At this rate, it was going to explode right from her chest and bounce down the street like a rubber ball.

He took off his sunglasses then, sunlight catching the gold flecks near the edges of his blue-green irises. Her eyes travelled immediately to the three-inch scar that passed through his right eyebrow, ending just below his eye.

_That wasn't there before. Hmmm, I wonder what other battle scars he has underneath all that leather..._

It was if he could read her thoughts. "Chicks dig scars."

Another high-pitched giggle burst forth. The air around them had grown several degrees hotter. Rivulets of sweat were trickling down her sternum, her t-shirt clinging in patches to her back and sides.

_Why, oh why did I have to wear this grubby old rag today? _she cursed herself silently. _I look like a total slob._

Apparently he didn't care. And now he was reaching for her, her boot camp warrior, United States vet, saying, "Come here, sweet thang."

But she couldn't move. Her voice came out in a guilty croak. "I'm married."

The truth crashed down like a glass wall. She watched his lips freeze, his eyes widening in transparent horror.

_Oh shit..._

"But only technically," she retracted, tripping over the words in her haste to repair the situation. "The divorce will be finalized in a few weeks."

Zack flashed another smile at her, one she'd never forgotten. "Hey, whatever. We were on a break."

Bailey stepped forward and she was 16 years old again, back with the love of her life. She pressed her hands to his cheeks, still half-afraid that she would touch only air, even as her lips trembled against his and she felt his fingers sweep away her bangs so that they were truly face to face. She was standing on the tips of her toes, her eyes were closing. His tongue unfurled into her mouth, bold and thrilling and oh so very real.

_He's really here... oh my God, this is really happening..._

Their mouths locked together, and there was no stopping to inhale, no more questions taking up space in her thoughts, as her hands tangled through his hair and her thumbs brushed his ears. Taking her in his arms, he lifted her up to swing her in circles, her ponytail flying out, until she was dizzy from the purest, most breathtaking joy. Nobody else could kiss her like that. Nobody else made her head spin the way he did. All she wanted was for this moment to last forever.

"Mom?"

A very familiar voice sent Bailey crash-landing back to reality. Her feet found the ground, and they both saw the blond boy standing in the doorway of her house, watching them.

"I finished all my chores," he said. "Can I go over to Josh's now?"

* * *

**A/N: Extra special thanks go to my mom for sharing her love of gardening, and to my motorcycle journalist friend Adrian for invaluable input. Snapp, Zack's aviators are for you, because you were totally right about that. And thanks to all of you guys again for reading and reviewing. Love always from Ellie – Xoxoxo.**

**Musical inspirations for this chapter:**

**Melissa McClelland, "Passenger 24"—best Americana song by a Canadian singer-songwriter ever**

**Van Morrison, "Brown-Eyed Girl"—from Chapter 20 of **_**Just One of the Guys**_

**Kid Rock, "All Summer Long"—sung by Hannah Montana in Chapter 4**


	32. Do You Play Video Games?

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the incredible reviews for Chapter 30. Here's Chapter 31...

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**Chapter 31: "Do You Play Video Games?"

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_Leaning against the railing of a Lake Charles bridge  
Overlooking the river leaning over the edge  
He asked me would you jump into the water with me  
I told him no way baby that's your own death you see  
Too cool to be forgotten  
Hey hey too cool to be forgotten_

_Lucinda Williams, "2 Kool 2 Be 4-Gotten"_

[-]

Bailey wiped her hands on the front of her overalls and pushed a strand of hair behind her ears, beset by a gut-churning anxiety. Her heart gave a monumental thump. She'd stopped picturing this introduction a long time ago.

Then she turned to Zack. "There's someone I'd like you to meet," she said with a slight cough to disguise the tremor in her voice. To her own ears, it didn't work.

She gestured to Connor. "Come here, honey. We have company."

He walked over to them, a cheerful-looking youngster with a thatch of unruly blond hair and an unmistakable glint of mischief in his blue eyes. "Hi, I'm Connor," he said to Zack in the Texan twang he'd acquired. "Who're you?"

"I'm Zack, an old friend of your mom's." Zack held out his right hand. "Nice to meet you, buddy."

Connor shook Zack's hand with mild enthusiasm.

Zack held Connor's hand for a few extra moments before letting go. Bailey realized she was holding her breath. Zack's eyes shifted to focus intently on her face. She felt them burning into hers, drilling through the crazy roar in her head, two blue-green, truth-seeking lasers. The question hung in the air between them now, understandable, inescapable. Zack had almost failed algebra at Seven Seas High, but the math at hand was basic.

_Thunk, thunk, thunk_ went her heart. She concentrated on those sunlit gold flecks and the quizzical tilt of his non-scarred eyebrow, and tried to answer without saying anything, though they hadn't always communicated successfully that way in the past.

_Yes, it's what you think. Please don't hate me._

"Do you play video games?" Connor asked Zack then, breaking their trance.

"Yeah, sure," replied Zack, smiling down at the boy. "I love video games."

Connor smiled back, all clear-eyed innocence. "I just got _Halo _10," he announced.

Zack's smile grew bigger, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. "No kidding? _Halo _is my favourite game."

"Cool." Connor grabbed Zack's arm and started dragging him toward the house, talking excitedly about the latest level he'd reached.

Bailey exhaled in a slow gasp. _I guess that went well, _she said to herself. _For a start_. A gush of relief overpowered her, and she nearly had to sit down on the grass to recover. But instead she began to laugh.

"There's the sniper tower."

"Head shot!"

"Sweet!"

_Nothing will ever be the same again_.

Bailey sat at the cluttered table in her small kitchen, which adjoined the living room where Connor and Zack sat on the sofa, side by side, clicking away at the game controllers. The two of them were completely absorbed in _Halo_. Late afternoon sunshine dappled the tabletop and counters, and a cool breeze stirred the kitchen curtains, heightening the scent of fall that permeated the indoors. She was glad she'd taken time to do the dishes after lunch, giving the kitchen a somewhat tidy appearance. _As if he cares what the house looks like_. The Zack she knew was an incurable slob, whose slovenly habits had riled her to no end when they shared a 12 x 12 cabin on the _S.S. Tipton_, but nonetheless he was a guest in her home. Aside from her parents and brothers, the only visitors she'd had since moving to Amarillo had been Jamie-Beth Collins and Moose.

_Whatever happens next, the world is not the same as it was when I woke up this morning. Everything has changed..._

"Here it comes."

"One shot, no scope."

Watching them together confirmed what she'd always known. The apple had fallen barely two feet from the tree.

"Nice one."

They high-fived each other.

Her lips, and other parts of her, still tingled from the kiss outside—close to an hour ago now. Her physical attraction to Zack had blindsided her from Day 1, and her thoughts, having forayed into lustful territory, were showing no signs of exiting. _I want him_, _I want to kiss those lips and that beautiful scar_. _I want him to hold me and touch me and make love to me... I want to be us again... I want, I want, I need..._

She brewed a pot of coffee as a distraction.

"Want some coffee?" she called to Zack.

"No thanks," he called back.

The rebuff stung to the quick. Cup in hand, she sat at the table again, feeling like a vestigial organ. Her practical side spoke up. _Of course he's more interested in Connor than in you. Why shouldn't he be?_ No matter how passionate and perfect that kiss had felt, how close they had once been, how winsome their child, she had forfeited any rights to happily ever after. There was no point thinking otherwise. Motherhood had turned her into a realist.

She ran her hands, damp with sweat, over her forehead and through her hair. What to do now? Go back out to the garden? Or start dinner? Or turn off the TV? Normally she only let Connor play video games for an hour per day, but today had become a special occasion. A very special occasion, in every conceivable sense.

The videophone in her pocket signified another option. She could go into her bedroom and call Jamie-Beth. Along with her parents and Dr. Coulter, her best friend had been the cornerstone of her support system during the past year. While Jamie-Beth had consistently disapproved of her decision not to tell Zack about Connor, and of her subsequent marriage to Moose, to her infinite credit she hadn't uttered a single statement from the "I told you so" department throughout Bailey's grief spiral. She'd even driven Bailey to her first appointment with Dr. Coulter.

Bailey took out the phone, realizing then that she didn't want to leave the room—just in case. Just in case what? _Just in case Zack decides he wants nothing to do with Connor and me and takes off while I'm gone. Or vanishes into thin air like the apparition he could still be. I can't let him out of my sight. Not yet._

As she thought of Jamie-Beth at home in Kettlecorn, nine hours north of Amarillo, she could hear their phone conversation unfolding:

_Bailey: "J-B, you are not going to believe it! You will never guess who is sitting on my sofa at this very moment playing _Halo_ with Connor. You. Will. Not. Believe. It."_

_Jamie-Beth: "Who? The Pope? Elvis? Hannah Montana? Who?"_

_Bailey: "Zack Martin."_

_Jamie-Beth: "No?"_

_Bailey: "Yes!"_

_Jamie-Beth: "No!"_

_Bailey: "Yes!" _

_Jamie-Beth: "Bales, are you sure about this? _Really_ sure? Maybe you fell in the shower this morning and banged your head, and now you're starting to see things? Sometimes it takes a while for a concussion to manifest itself. Or maybe you inhaled too much lawn fertilizer?"_

_Bailey: "You know I only use the organic stuff! And I kid you not, J-B. Zack Martin rode up to my house about an hour ago on the coolest-looking Harley I have ever seen and said 'Hey, sweet thang.' "_

_Jamie-Beth: Oh my God!_

_Bailey: "I know! He was wearing a leather jacket and aviator sunglasses, and he has a scar through his right eyebrow. And when he kissed me—"_

_Jamie-Beth: "He kissed you?"_

_Bailey: "Oh yeah, and it was so hot, and I mean _really hot_, just like old times. But then Connor kind of interrupted us."_

_Jamie-Beth: "No way! What did you tell Connor?"_

_Bailey: "Nothing yet. Zack introduced himself as an old friend of mine, and then Connor asked him if he plays video games. Now Connor thinks Zack is his new best friend."_

_Jamie-Beth: "Do you think Zack knows? About Connor?"_

_Bailey: "Yeah, he knows. He knew right away. I didn't even have to say anything. Not that I knew what to say."_

_Jamie-Beth: "But this is so crazy! I mean, what are you going to tell Connor? And how the hell is Zack even alive? How does the army get that kind of information wrong? It's all so crazy..."_

_Bailey: "I have no idea. I have _no idea_ about anything. We haven't really talked yet. I don't know why Zack is here, how he found me, if he still has feelings for me—"_

_Jamie-Beth: "Bales,_ of course_ he still has feelings for you! Why else would he show up at your house out of the blue after eight years and kiss you?"_

_Bailey: "No, I mean I don't know if he still has feelings for me _now_. Now that he knows I kept this huge secret from him, a secret that could have changed his life. I can't expect him to forgive me just like that. I just can't..."_

"Hey, Mom?"

That voice could yank her out of any reverie. Bailey looked up to see the two video game fiends in the living room, both pairs of eyes on her. Connor was sitting up on his knees with his elbows propped on the back on the sofa. "Can Zack stay for dinner?" he asked.

When had she ever been able to say no to that impish grin?

Her mouth and her heart opened at the same time. "He can stay for as long as he wants."

* * *

Zack drifted awake to the weight of Bailey lying in his arms, with her head nestled between his right shoulder and chest. He could feel he was still inside her, connected, tethered to her. His head was filled with the calm, lucid sensation that followed a phenomenal release of tension. As sappy as it sounded, it almost felt like his brain was being cuddled by kittens and bunnies.

They were in her bed, the top sheet thrown over them, and Bailey was asleep, her knees folded on either side of his waist, her right hand on his left shoulder. She fit him perfectly, the way her hipbones grooved into his, no arms or legs bent at weird angles or out of place. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders and back, as pineapple-scented as ever, sweeter than any perfume. He held a handful of it, his other hand placed on the middle of her back, rising and falling with her breath. He'd always loved her hair, could hardly keep his hands off it whenever he was around her.

Drawing her closer, he kissed the top of her head, then craned his neck a little so he could see more of her face, softly lit by the lamp on the bedside table. The eyelashes curling above her cheekbones, cheeks aglow, a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead brought on another smile.

_God, she's so beautiful._

In her face he could see the 16-year-old girl who'd walked into his cabin on the first day of sea school dressed in baggy boys' clothing, neither of them having any idea how they'd turn each other's lives upside down. And to think he'd almost traded her to Cody for Woody.

Tonight differed from other nights he'd lain awake watching her sleep in more ways than he could count. On the boat, they pushed their beds together at night and the sight of her snuggled up beside him had captivated him. _Hot girl with boobs, close enough to touch! Sweet!_ The certainty that Moseby would blow a gasket if he knew what _really_ went on in Cabin 8-102 added to his excitement. It was this "flagrant disregard for authority" that had sealed his mom's decision to ship him off to military school, giving him his first experience of heartbreak since it meant that he and Bailey would be separated. He'd done his best to make their long distance relationship last, and his ultimate failure, her insistence that they'd grown too far apart, had felt like the end of the world.

Showing up at her house that afternoon had been more terrifying than being air-dropped behind enemy lines with no back-up. Akin to jousting a knight while wearing cardboard armour and riding a sawhorse. _King Kong balls of steel_, Tommy would have said. It didn't matter how much Kevlar he was wearing, how many weapons or intelligence reports he had. If she'd shut him down, it would have hurt worse than any bullet.

But happily, that hadn't been the case, although for a moment the M-word had loomed like the blade of a guillotine. After a dinner of two delivery pizzas, which he'd paid for (well, Cody had), Bailey stuck to Connor's bedtime routine, making sure he brushed his teeth and reading him a story, while he himself sat on the sofa, drinking a cup of coffee, wondering what would happen next. The walking, talking seven-year-old surprise should have scared him, but strangely it hadn't. When she came into the living room, he stood up and walked over to her, and the kiss she gave him had unleashed something primal and pent-up in both of them.

And now here they were.

A lock of hair fell onto her cheek and he brushed it behind her ear, stroking his thumb lightly along her earlobe and up to the tip. Her other ear was pressed to his heart. As he kissed her temple, he felt her stir.

"Hey," he said, craning his neck again.

She cracked open one brown eye, then the other. "Hey," she said, her plump bee-stung lips curving into a smile. "You're still here. It wasn't just a dream."

"Of course I'm still here." He leaned to kiss her and felt her tongue probe eagerly into his mouth, heat rising between them. Just as his breathing quickened in anticipation of Round Two, a disconcerting thought intruded into the shared bliss. A thought concerning the psychological well-being of the pint-sized version of himself who was (hopefully) asleep in the bedroom at the end of the hallway. The biggest difference between then and now.

Pulling back, he asked her anxiously, "You don't think he heard us, do you?"

Bailey laughed, a throaty laugh that reverberated into his chest. Her cheeks turned a brighter shade of pink. "Don't worry, he's a pretty sound sleeper." Another laugh. Coyly, she added, "Just like somebody else I know."

Satisfied with this, he tried to resume the kiss, but she had moved her head aside. He kissed her hair instead. A few moments passed before she spoke again. "Look, the reason I never said anything about him..."

The Talk. He'd known it was coming, and frankly, of all the conversations he'd expected to have with her, he hadn't entertained this one. But what was done was done. His personal philosophy had worked for every situation so far in his life, whether military or civilian, so why not this situation?

_You just get on with it_. _That's what it's all about._

And so he put a finger firmly on her lips. "It is important," he told her. "But in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter."

She shook her head, her hair tumbling around her face. "I can't believe that. You must be angry with me. Furious even. You have every right to be."

Zack considered this. He could be angry at her. Plenty of guys in his position would be. But he just wasn't that kind of guy. Not anymore, at least. "Yeah, you're right," he said slowly. "But I'm not mad." The conviction came from somewhere deep inside. "A year and a half ago, I would have been incredibly pissed at you. But a lot has happened since then. I survived a nuclear bomb, I was on the run for my life, I was in prison and tortured, stuff I can't even tell you about. Things like that give a man perspective, and I can't undo any of them. Can you?"

"Well, no," she protested. The pink was rapidly fading from her cheeks. "But—"

"But nothing," he interrupted her. "All that matters now is making up for lost time. And our family." He paused to draw in a breath. "If you'll have me back." Until she said yes, tonight might just be a fling to her, a hook-up for the sake of closure or nostalgia. A chance to knock boots with someone who knew exactly what she liked and how she liked it.

Tears pooled in Bailey's eyes, filling up their corners. "That's very sweet of you, Zack, but I need to get this off my chest. You have to know how I feel, why I did what I did." She took a deep breath of her own, followed by several more. At last, the words flowed out like a speech she'd rehearsed. "I was 18 and scared out of my mind. That's my only justification, my only excuse. That, and I thought I was doing the right thing by not holding you back from the next stage of your life. Connor is the most beautiful, wonderful thing that's ever happened to me, and I don't regret giving up my scholarship to Yale so that I could be his mom. As my late Grammy used to say, 'Ifs and buts will drive you nuts.' But, if I live to be a hundred, I will never have the words to describe the pain I felt when I read that email from Woody. I am so, so proud of everything you've done to defend our country and the free world, but, Zack, I would have sold my soul to go back to August 2011, if your knowing about Connor could have led to a different future."

She blinked and a tear slid out. He caught it with his thumb. He wouldn't let her cry. She'd done enough of that already, no doubt. Cradling her against him, he quipped in her ear, "We can go back in time if you want, but we'll have to use your time machine because mine's in the shop and they want, like, three grand for a new flux capacitor."

Bailey burst into giggles and rolled off him. She fell silent and lay with her head on his shoulder, her fingertips tracing patterns over his chest. They outlined a reddish welt that stretched across his left pec muscle. "You were really tortured?" she asked quietly.

He laughed casually. "Yeah, if you count having to drink yak milk." Yak milk was actually pretty tasty, but that was one of the things Bailey didn't need to know.

She asked her next question in the same subdued tone. "You're not going to tell me more about it, are you?"

"No, I can't really," he said in all honesty. Outside of Dr. Giffin, Cody was the exception. As his twin brother, Cody was always the exception. A kernel of truth popped in his head, and he tightened his arms around her as the memory, never far from the surface, hazed into clarity like an old-fashioned Polaroid image. "But there is one thing I can tell you. I was in a cave, I wasn't doing so well, things weren't looking good, and I don't think I would have lasted through to the next day. And just when I was slipping away, you showed up. You danced around in front of me on your dainty little feet and you sang a little song and you talked to me. You said you had something important to tell me, and you kept me alive. Part of me knew it wasn't the real you, but when it came right down to it, you were worth living for."

Bailey sat up slightly, her chin resting on his collarbone. "Wow, really?" she breathed, eyes wide and liquid with tears.

"So I knew I had to see you again, just for the smallest chance that we could still be together." His thoughts felt as naked as the rest of him as he continued. "Everyone has that person they can't forget and they can never get over. And that's you."

He touched her cheek. Her lower jaw was quivering, her eyelashes clumped together from tears. Holding her face, he said, "Bailey Pickett, I love you. I always have, I always will. I want to be a family with you and Connor. You _will_ take me back, right?"

Bailey's eyes overflowed and she launched herself at him, smothering his face and neck with kisses. "Yes, yes, God, yes," she sobbed fervently. "I love you so much. I can never, ever lose you again."

And that was what he needed to hear, what he had hoped to hear as he made the 2,500-mile ride from Boston. His arms were full of her, he was losing himself in the head-spinning rush of relief and desire, and his last coherent thought would have been _Must get walls sound-proofed _if she hadn't stopped kissing him all of a sudden.

"Hey wait, so what did I say to save your life?" she asked, and he looked up to see her smiling expectantly at him.

_Moooooo_. At that moment, the guttural yak greeting would be as much of a mood-killer as it had been that morning in the Fann Mountains when his luck changed. "I'll tell you later," he said, grinning, then flipped them over so that he was on top. "Now come here, sweet thang..."

Her lips met his and they folded into each other, their mouths and bodies opening up.

[***]

It was 0300 when Zack's eyes opened next, the numbers glowing green on the digital clock on Bailey's bedside table. She was spooned against him, his cheek pressed to the nape of her neck, their legs and feet intertwined. He unwrapped himself from her and sat up carefully so as not to disturb her sleep.

A hand shot out from under the covers, her fingernails digging in at his waist. "Don't go," she mumbled fearfully.

"I'll be right back, babe, " he soothed, giving her a quick kiss, and climbed out of bed. From the floor he located and pulled on his boxers and the cut-off t-shirt he'd worn for extra cool-guy factor, and padded down the hall to the bathroom.

Standing at the sink, washing his hands, he realized Bailey hadn't asked about the 12 names on his left arm. But he knew that she would, and when she did, he would tell her as much as he could about his fallen brothers, and especially about Tommy. He would also tell her about visiting Tommy's parents yesterday in Lake Charles, Louisiana, where Tommy had grown up dreaming about joining the army. He'd never met them before and they'd been surprised and delighted when he called from the road, asking if he could see them. Both of them wept at the sight of their son's name inscribed on his wrist. Zack was glad he could bring them good news as well, that the Tipton Martin Foundation for World Peace was going to name a scholarship in Tommy's honour for children whose parents had been killed in terrorist attacks.

He swallowed over the lump in his throat and splashed some water on his face. Thinking of Tommy still produced a dull ache of sadness in the pit of his stomach, but tonight it hurt a little bit less.

After drying his face on a towel that smelled of Bailey and switching off the bathroom light, he found himself at the door at the end of the hallway.

A ray of streetlight filtered through the curtains on Connor's bedroom window. What Zack felt for the small boy asleep in the bed was not something he could put into words. Was it love already? An instinct to protect? A space in his heart that hadn't existed before today? _A little of all three_, he decided. Not in his most far-fetched thoughts could he have imagined that within 24 hours of leaving the Delgados' house, he would discover that he had a son of his own.

_Who are you?_ he wondered, gazing at the child. Seven years old, no blank slate by any means. Seven missed birthdays, plus the first one. During the years his parents were divorced, his dad had never missed his and Cody's birthday, or any Christmas.

The questions kept coming. _What's your favourite colour?_ _What's your favourite ice cream flavour? Your favourite pizza toppings? Who are your friends? What do you like to do besides play _Halo_? I can't wait to find out._ _It's not going to be easy. I'm sure I'll learn more about myself along the way. I'm looking forward to it._

What was he going to tell Cody? _Cody, you'll never believe it. _I_ can hardly believe it. It's a long story, but I'm a dad. I have a son. You're an uncle._

Taking a step closer to the bed, he thought, _Soon you'll be part of a big family, but for now you and your mom are just mine._ He savoured the last two words. He didn't get to say them very often. _Just mine_.

Just then Connor rolled onto his back, one arm splayed out. Zack glanced around the bedroom until he spotted something on the floor near the bed. He tiptoed over and picked it up. It was a plush Monster Truck. His heart swelled with pride. _That's my boy. Too cool for a blankie._

He tucked the truck into the crook of Connor's elbow and pulled the covers up to his chin, even though it wasn't remotely cold in the room.

" 'Night, buddy," he whispered, brushing the wisps of blond hair from Connor's closed eyes. "See you in the morning."

Bailey would be wondering where he'd gone, but when he reached the door he couldn't tear himself away. He stayed, hand on the doorknob, watching, listening to Connor's quiet, even breathing.

He couldn't think of a more peaceful sound.

* * *

**A/N: Bailey's Grammy's saying "If and buts will drive you nuts" was first mentioned in Chapter 16 of **_**Just One of the Guys "**_**Who Could Be the One?" where Bailey deliberated which Martin twin could be the one for her (just before the mystery knock at her cabin door). Thanks as always for reading and reviewing. Lots of love from Ellie – Xoxoxo.**


	33. The Million Dollar Kiss, Part 1

**A/N: A familiar face returns in this chapter. To all of you who sent me your favourite SLOZAC episodes way back at the end of January, look out for references. Thanks again for your input! Extra thanks go to Woundedhearts and Wyntirsno for their contributions. And for fans of those "other" twins, there also is a **_**Full House**_** reference.

* * *

**

**Chapter 32: The Million-Dollar Kiss, Part 1

* * *

**

**SIX MONTHS LATER...**

**SATURDAY, APRIL 25, 2020 **

_This is nuts_, eight-year-old Connor Pickett-Martin determined as he stood by the window in Suite 2420 of the Tipton Hotel in Boston, watching the hubbub of activity down below. _I am _never_ getting married_.

As far as he could tell, the whole hotel was in an uproar over Uncle Cody and Auntie London's wedding—maybe even all of Boston. But since he'd never been to Boston before, perhaps it was normal for St. James Avenue to be a crazy traffic jam of trucks and vans. This morning they were delivering supplies for what the newspapers at the candy counter downstairs referred to as Boston's "Wedding of the Century." Back and forth they scurried like the ants in the ant farm in Connor's classroom.

In addition to the delivery vehicles, Connor had counted 15 limos so far. Six-hundred-fifty people were coming to the wedding—more than the entire population of Kettlecorn, Kansas, where Connor's grandparents lived. All 25 floors of the hotel were booked for wedding guests, plus 10 floors of the hotel across the street, which also belonged to the Tipton hotel chain. On top of that, the phone in Suite 2420 had been ringing off the hook since 6:30, because, as his mom was complaining to his other grandmother, Grandma Carey, Auntie London was behaving like a "bridezilla."

"London hasn't changed a one bit," she said angrily into the phone. "She's barely seen me for 10 years, and yet she expects me to be at her beck and call. I don't mind lending a hand, but this is ridiculous. I'm a guest, a pregnant guest, not her servant."

Like all the new and different parts of Connor's life, this five-day trip to Boston stemmed from that morning last October when he'd walked into the kitchen and found his mom and Zack sitting at the table, drinking coffee. The only person he was used to seeing her drink her breakfast coffee with was Daddy Moose, and Mom and Daddy Moose weren't married anymore. Daddy Moose lived in Kansas, in a house where Connor and Mom had also once lived, and never stayed overnight when he came to visit. But here was Mom laughing and talking with Zack, her old friend, and looking happier than she had in ages. Mom had been sad for a long time. Connor thought this might be why Mom and Daddy Moose had gotten a divorce, but he wasn't too sure. Grown-ups had so many complicated reasons for doing the things they did.

"Hello?" he said, trying to hide his confusion.

Both Mom and Zack looked at him. "Morning, honey," Mom said, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Come sit down." She pointed to his usual seat at the table, where a cup of cocoa and a plate of pancakes awaited him. His favourite breakfast. The same breakfast he got before Mom told him they were moving to Texas.

Something was going on.

Connor sat and took a small sip of cocoa. "Is everything OK?"

"Honey, we have something important to tell you," Mom began, and he could see she was nervous from the way she blinked and kept fiddling with her hair. She shared a glance with Zack, took a deep breath, and gave him the big news. "Connor, Zack is your father. Your real father."

Zack took over then. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you before," he said, "but I want to be here for you now, and be a family with you and your mom." Pause. "If that's OK with you?"

Stunned, Connor looked to his mom. "But what about Daddy Moose?" Connor had always known Daddy Moose was his stepfather, but he'd told Connor that the "step-" part didn't matter. Now that Mom and Daddy Moose were divorced, Connor missed him a lot, more than he let Mom know, because he didn't want her to be sad again. Did this mean he wouldn't see Daddy Moose anymore?

"Daddy Moose can still be part of your life," Mom said in a reassuring tone.

Connor returned his gaze to Zack, feeling confused still. When Zack smiled at him, something suddenly occurred to Connor—something very significant. "Is that why my eyes are blue?" he asked. He'd always wondered why he looked so different from his brown-eyed, brown-haired mom. It made him feel strange, even though he supposedly had her nose.

Zack's smile widened, like he understood why this question was so important to Connor. "It sure is." He pointed to his own greenish-blue eyes. "You got them from me. And that blond hair of yours."

A sense of belonging sprung up inside Connor. He looked like his dad. "Cool," he said.

"Zack and I knew each other years before I married Daddy Moose." Mom placed a photo beside his plate, one he'd never seen before. In it she and Zack were standing close together with their arms around each other, smiling, Mom in a pretty yellow dress and Zack in a military uniform.

"It was taken the day I graduated high school," Zack explained to him. "In June 2011."

Zack's uniform mattered much more to Connor than the date. "You're a soldier?" he exclaimed. Soldiers were heroes. Everybody knew that.

"Yeah, I was," Zack replied, nodding. "That's why I've been away all these years."

"Did you get to use a gun?" Connor demanded eagerly, thinking how Zack kicked butt at _Halo_.

Again Zack nodded. "Yeah, quite a few. It was part of my job."

Wide-eyed with awe and a little bit of fear, Connor asked the next logical question. "Did you ever have to shoot anybody?"

Zack looked over at Mom, shrugging slightly, with his eyebrows raised. She shrugged back, the corners of her mouth turning down uncertainly.

A mysterious expression appeared on Zack's face and he darted a glance behind him, as though somebody might be hiding in a corner of the kitchen. Connor peered, too, just in case. After checking behind Connor, Zack leaned close to him and spoke in a voice just above a whisper. "That's top-secret information. When you're older, I'll make sure you get the right security clearance and we can talk more. But until then..." he raised a finger to his lips, "shhh." Then he winked.

"OK." Connor nodded vigorously, excited that he would be entrusted with top-secret information. His head buzzed with other curious thoughts, but he didn't have the words to turn them into questions—except for one question that came out easily. "Do I have to call you Dad?"

Zack gave him another smile. "That would be really cool, and I would definitely like that," he said. "When you're ready."

"OK," Connor agreed. He sipped his cocoa, digesting everything he'd just learned. Mom reached over and squeezed his hand. Her warm smile reinforced how happy she was, and that made Connor feel happy, too.

"So, I was thinking we could all go to the park today, bring a picnic, and play catch," Zack suggested, looking between Connor and Mom.

"Cool." A picnic and playing at the park would be way more fun than those boring old botanical gardens that Mom liked to drag him to.

It was settled. Zack motioned to his plate. "Finish up your pancakes, and we'll be Oscar Mike."

Connor started to scarf down his breakfast, content with this turn of events.

Standing by the window in Suite 2420, Connor couldn't remember the exact day he decided he was ready to call Zack "Dad." It was after he had to stay home from school for a week with the flu and Zack was there to look after him so Mom didn't have to take time off work. And it was after the first time Zack's twin brother Cody and Auntie London came to visit. Definitely before the big family Christmas trip to Las Vegas where Connor met his new grandparents, Carey and Kurt, who were performing two concerts. In fact, the only downside to having Zack as his real father was that Zack always knew when he was up to something. It was like he had eyes in the back of his head.

[***]

And right then, Connor realized, as a green balloon zoomed past the window, somebody was up to something. He watched the balloon's downward flight until it splashed onto the head of an ant-sized person, causing the person to crash into someone else, both of them dropping boxes.

Connor snickered. _Too funny!_

Another balloon whizzed by, and then another. A crowd was soon collecting on the sidewalk.

"Hey, Mom," he called out. "You gotta come see this!"

Mom was still sitting on the sofa, talking on the phone. "Thank you so much," she was saying, "I really appreciate this. OK, we'll see you in a minute." She hung up and looked toward Connor. "What do I need to see?"

"Someone's throwing water balloons," he informed her gleefully.

Mom looked worried. "Uh oh, I hope it's not your father."

This didn't seem likely, though. Dad, who was the best man, was staying with Uncle Cody at the other hotel so Uncle Cody and Auntie London wouldn't accidentally run into each other. Apparently it was bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding ceremony.

"I'm just going downstairs for a bit," Mom said, getting to her feet. "And Grandma Carey is coming over."

This put an end to Connor's wish that he could sneak out of the suite and join in the water balloon fun, but he wasn't disappointed. While he loved all the new members of his extended family, and even felt a smidge of guilt for playing favourites, he absolutely adored Grandma Carey.

Moments later there was a knock on the door and it was her. "Hey, kiddo," she said cheerfully to Connor. In her arms she carried a large book.

"Thanks again, Carey," Mom said as she grabbed her purse from the table. "A massage is so what I need right now. I can't believe there was even a free spot with all the guests here."

Grandma Carey smiled. "Membership has its perks. Ownership has its privileges." She shifted the book so she could rub Mom's shoulder with her right hand. "Now you just go relax and don't worry about a thing."

"Bye, honey," Mom said to Connor, kissing the top of his head. "I'll be back really soon." She stopped in the doorway, leaning against the wall, with her hand on her stomach. It seemed to be getting bigger everyday, but not as Connor had initially suspected because she was eating too much. She was going to have a baby, a little brother or sister for Connor. He wasn't sure how he felt about this yet. Babies did nothing but cry and soil their diapers all day long. However, Mom and Dad were thrilled and deep down in his heart, Connor had to concede that something that made Mom so happy had to be good. More than anything, he wanted her to stay happy.

Grandma Carey winked at Mom and rubbed her shoulder again. They exchanged a look and Mom said in a low voice, casting a sideways glance at Connor, "We'll know for sure at the second ultrasound."

Before Connor could ask any questions, Mom left and Grandma Carey seated herself on the sofa. She patted the cushion next to her. "I brought something to show you."

He sat and she wrapped an arm around him. Grandma Carey wasn't like any grandmother he'd ever met. She was younger, for one, and much prettier. While her brown hair may have been graying, it was cool and spiky. Grandma Carey was also a famous singer. Well, maybe not as famous as Hannah Montana, but she and Grandpa Kurt did travel around the world performing. His friends' grandmothers and his Kansas grandmother spent their time knitting and quilting and gardening.

The book turned out to be a photo album. "Since this is your first trip to Boston, I thought you'd like to see how much fun your dad and Uncle Cody had growing up here," she said.

"OK." Until meeting the Martin side of his family, Connor hadn't known that people could live permanently in hotels. A hotel was the opposite of home—a place to stay when you were on vacation, like the time he and Mom and Daddy Moose went to Disney World. Yet Uncle Cody and Auntie London lived upstairs in the penthouse suite, and Grandma Carey and Grandpa Kurt had a suite on the 23rd floor for when they weren't touring. Nevertheless, Connor was not convinced that a hotel could truly feel like a home.

As he scanned the first page, he spotted a photo of a blonde-haired girl in a dress with a shiny red top and a long white skirt. She was walking on a stage. "She's kind of cute," he said, pointing. Now that he was eight, girls were slightly less gross than when he was seven.

Grandma Carey chuckled with laughter and said, to his consternation, "That's actually your Uncle Cody. He and your dad entered a beauty pageant shortly after we moved here to try to win some bikes."

Connor found this hard to believe. "Does he still dress up like that?" he gasped. It was difficult to imagine Uncle Cody wearing anything but a dark blue suit, which he had to wear because he worked for a big company.

Still chuckling, Grandma Carey shook her head. "No, no. He grew out of that phase a long time ago."

Relieved to hear this, Connor examined the rest of the page. As 12-year-olds, Dad and Uncle Cody looked very much alike. Connor could scarcely tell them apart. Their clothes were the best way to distinguish them. Dad often wore camo clothing, just like a soldier, and Uncle Cody mostly wore dress shirts and sweater vests.

"Is that Dad or Uncle Cody?" he asked, indicating a photo of Maddie Bristow, Kaley and Kassidy's mom, dancing with a blond boy in a suit. Connor had met the Bristows at the wedding rehearsal yesterday. Maddie was the matron of honour, and Kaley and Kassidy were the flower girls.

"Your dad. He invited a circus to Maddie's prom when the band didn't show up and saved the night from being a disaster."

"That was nice of him." Since he didn't really care what a prom was, Connor turned the page.

A lot of singing and dancing went on at this hotel—Grandma Carey singing in the lounge, Dad and a brown-haired girl performing in a Go Dance USA contest, Dad and Uncle Cody playing in a band, the hotel employees dancing in a commercial for the hotel, and strangest of all, Dad and Uncle Cody dancing with _each other_ in sparkly outfits.

"They were trying to help Esteban win a ballroom dancing competition," Grandma Carey said, seeing his confusion.

Mixed in with the singing and dancing were photos of basketball games, in which Dad played and Uncle Cody sat on the bench, soccer games (no sign of Uncle Cody there), and both of them skateboarding down the ramp in the lobby.

_That would be fun_, Connor thought. _I should have packed my skateboard_.

"This was our first Christmas here," Grandma Carey said, pointing out a photo of herself with Grandpa Kurt, Dad, and Uncle Cody. The four of them stood by a Christmas tree, smiling like a happy family.

"How come there aren't many photos with Grandpa Kurt?" Connor asked then.

"That's because he was on the road a lot," she answered.

Living at a hotel obviously meant you got to go to loads of parties. There were photos of costume parties, sweet sixteen parties, birthday parties—more parties than Connor had ever been to in his entire life.

"That was the year Uncle Cody and your dad threw me a surprise birthday party in the grand ballroom." Grandma Carey's finger pointed to a scene of destruction. Overturned furniture, clouds of smoke, crushed flowers and party hats, and cake smeared on the floor.

"What happened?" Connor asked in fascination. Messy parties were the best kind.

"Arwin the hotel engineer built me a robotic baby-sitter.' She sighed, shaking her head. "Naturally it didn't work as planned."

When Connor looked to the next photo, he felt his eyes bug out. "Why is Hannah Montana eating cake off Dad?" Hannah Montana was Mom's favourite singer. Mom had even met her once at a concert in Hawaii. She called it the highlight of her life, next to Connor being born.

"She was a guest at the hotel," replied Grandma Carey.

"I wonder if Mom knows she ate cake off Dad?" Connor pondered.

Grandma Carey got a look on her face like she had to go to the bathroom and flipped the page quickly.

A photo of a man standing by a wall of framed photos snagged Connor's attention. In each one he had a different funny-looking hairstyle. Recognizing him as the man who was going to give Auntie London away at the wedding, he asked, "That's Moseby, right?"

"_Mister_ Moseby," she corrected him. "And yes, that's him in his old office. He worked at the hotel before he got a job with Uncle Cody. Started out as a bellhop and worked his way up to manager."

By the middle of the album, a distinct trend had emerged. Uncle Cody had won _tons_ of awards at school. He won spelling bees, science fairs, speech contests, even school president. Dad, on the other hand, only received a sports trophy here and there.

"It must've sucked for Dad that Uncle Cody won all these awards," Connor noted.

"Well, Cody always did care a lot about school," Grandma Carey said. "Grades were very important to him."

Grades were important to Connor, too, but not so much that he was a super-nerd like Uncle Cody had been. Then again, if super-nerds grew up to work for big companies, it was probably OK to be one. Although his parents had never flat-out said so, Connor had a strong suspicion that Uncle Cody and Auntie London were stinking rich. Possibly even filthy stinking rich.

"I do think it was hard for your dad that his brother did so well at school," Grandma Carey continued thoughtfully. "But he found other ways to shine."

"I guess it's weird that he's the one in school now, huh?" Dad was taking business courses part-time at college because he was going to become a security consultant. When Connor had asked him what a security consultant did, he said they got paid to break into offices and factories. Connor thought this sounded like the perfect job.

"No, it's not weird," she said. "We all do things at our own pace. And even though Uncle Cody and your dad have their differences, and have gone through plenty of ups and downs, they're always there for each other."

That was clear. In almost every photo, Dad and Uncle Cody were together, whether they were at the bowling alley, on a game show called _Risk It All_ or with their Wilderness Scouts troop.

Not for the first time, Connor wished he were getting a twin of his own, a built-in best friend, instead of a baby sibling. Feeling a twinge of doubt, he asked, "Is that how I'll feel about Shi?" Shilah was the name Mom and Dad had picked out for a girl, and Connor had already shortened it to Shi. "Like I'll want to be there for her, no matter what?"

"Honey, of course you will," Grandma Carey assured him, her brown eyes soft and kind. "You're going to be a terrific big brother, just you wait and see."

"I'll be a _real_ big brother," he realized with a flash of pride. "I'll be eight years older than Shi. Dad's only 10 minutes older than Uncle Cody. That hardly counts."

Grandma Carey just laughed and squeezed her arm tighter around him. Connor felt safe as he leaned against her. The last few months had brought so many changes. Not that they were bad, they just meant that his life was different. He had more people to think about, more places to go. It was bewildering sometimes, like everything was running at high speed.

Toward the end of the album, he saw a photo of Uncle Cody and Auntie London shimmying in front of a microphone. Yet more singing and dancing.

"London used to have a webshow called _Yay Me! Starring London Tipton_ and Cody was the producer," Grandma Carey said. "And now they're getting married in..." she glanced at her watch, "five hours. My little man is finally getting married." Her eyes began to look teary, and Connor wondered if she was going to cry. He hoped not.

Turning to the last page, he noticed a photo of Dad dressed like a rock star. He was wearing a spiky blond wig, a gold leather jacket with frills on it, tight blue jeans, white leather boots, and the same kind of fingertip-less motorcycle gloves he had today.

"So when did Dad do that?" he asked.

Grandma Carey wiped her eyes on the back on her hand as she answered. "That was taken on the _S.S. Tipton_, but the bizarre thing is that nobody remembers it, not even your dad. Seems the photo just showed up one day."

An idea occurred to Connor. "Maybe it happened in another world," he proposed, "and it was so awesome that it actually broke through into our world."

She laughed and patted his head. "Yeah, I'm sure that's what happened. More than likely, your dad just doesn't want to admit to wearing that silly outfit."

Connor preferred his explanation. It was cooler. "You know what?" he said as she closed the album. "Living in a hotel would be fun, as long I didn't have to sing and dance all the time."

She hid a smile, setting the album aside. "Well, I can't make any promises about singing and dancing, but it would be wonderful if you and your family did live here. Why don't tell your parents you want to move to Boston?"

Connor resolved that he could do that. As nice as Texas was, he didn't get to go to many parties there. At the thought of his adopted home state, though, he felt a pang of dismay. "But I wouldn't want my accent to wear off," he added, drawing out his vowel sounds. "Dad says chicks dig accents."

"That sounds like something like he'd say," Grandma Carey said, laughing.

Just then they heard a knock at the door, and she got up to open it.

There stood Auntie London's maid Millicent, jiggling up and down, alternating between sobbing and wailing. Her face resembled a raccoon's, with mascara smudged out around her eyes and making muddy tracks down her cheeks. In her hands she clutched a clipboard from which a sheaf of papers spilled. Five communication devices were strapped to a belt around her waist, and her headset hung askew. A voice clamoured through each speaker, creating an unintelligible racket.

Grandma Carey took one look at Millicent and turned to Connor. "Sweetie, I need you to stay here and be good," she said in a no-nonsense voice, "because I have to go deal with whatever is happening."

Connor nodded obediently. Her no-nonsense voice was much firmer than Mom's. He waved to Millicent, who just whimpered, as Grandma Carey put an arm around her shoulders.

"OK, OK, honey, just take a breathe," she said soothingly, leading Millicent out of the room and closing the door to Suite 2420 behind them.

_Why didn't Millicent say hi to me?_ Connor puzzled. Millicent had been his baby-sitter after Mom and Dad's surprise wedding in Las Vegas. He'd been given the choice to go on tour with Grandma Carey and Grandpa Kurt for a few days, or to a New Year's party with Uncle Cody and Auntie London in someplace called Seoul, but to his secret relief, Mom and Dad had decided that Millicent should be flown in from Boston to look after him. Connor liked to think of himself as fearless, yet the concept of being away from his parents, even for a few days, sent bolts of worry shooting through his stomach. You never knew when someone might disappear from your life. Even though Daddy Moose was still supposed to be part of his, for Christmas he'd gotten a card and some action figures in the mail from Daddy Moose. And he hadn't heard anything from Daddy Moose since then.

Sounds of hysterical sobbing arose from the hallway. Connor felt sorry for Millicent. She was pretty fun for a baby-sitter, when she wasn't crying. While Mom and Dad had been busy doing their taxes—at least that's what Millicent said they were doing—she'd taken him to the Amazing Armando's magic show 10 times and played hide and seek with him in the casino until a security guard found them both.

"Pssst."

Connor jumped as he heard a voice hissing somewhere near his head.

There it was again. "Hey, Connor."

_To be continued.

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**A/N: Is somebody up to something? Hmmm… So much thanks for reading and reviewing this very long story, you guys. Only two more chapters to go! Lots of love from Ellie – Xoxoxo **


	34. The Million Dollar Kiss, Part 2

**A/N: Such awesome guesses on who's calling out to Connor, you guys. As always, your ingenuity impresses me! This chapter reveals all—including one very long-awaited event.

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**Chapter 33: The Million-Dollar Kiss, Part 2

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Connor's eyes flitted to the ceiling, seeking the source of this mystery voice. Was that movement in the rectangular grate on the wall above the sofa? He quickly hauled the coffee table across the room and climbed onto it.

Two small caramel-coloured faces popped into view behind the metal lattice, chins propped in hands. Each face wore a wide mischievous grin, one face framed by tiny beaded braids, the other topped with a bushy brown 'fro.

"Hi?" Connor said, mystified. Who were these two? Why were they in what looked like an air conditioning vent? And how come he wasn't aware the hotel was full of kid-sized vents?

"This is my sister Tasha," said the boy, just before the girl chimed in, "This is my brother Elijah."

Together they said, "We're the Moseby twins."

_More twins._ The photo of Moseby and his wacky hairstyles flashed into Connor's memory. Moseby must be their dad. Thinking they sounded corny, he snarked, "Did you rehearse that?"

The girl and boy traded looks. "No..."

"How do you know my name?" Connor asked next.

"We have our sources," Elijah said in a secretive tone.

Tasha rolled her dark-brown brown eyes. "We know your dad 'cause he knows our dad. He showed us some cool stuff."

Connor felt his own eyes widen. "Like what?" he demanded. He made a mental note to ask Dad about this cool stuff. It wouldn't be fair for these two to know cool stuff that _he_ didn't know.

"Well, there was that thing," she began to explain, but was cut off by a glare from Elijah, who objected with, "We're on a mission _and_ we have tight timeline."

Like a hand in a cookie jar, Connor's attention was caught. "So, what's up? Aside from you guys in the vent?"

"You have a front-row seat at the wedding, right?" Elijah asked.

"Yeah, my dad's best man," Connor replied. _Of course_ he had a front-row seat.

"Then we need to talk," said Tasha solemnly.

In a tone that was even more solemn, Elijah said, "We want to make you an offer you can't refuse."

An offer he couldn't refuse? Connor was all ears. "OK."

The twins continued to speak, first one, then the other:

"We had front-row seats, too."

"Because our dad is giving London to Cody."

"But then we got grounded in our suite."

"For throwing water balloons off the roof."

"That was you guys?" Connor broke in, his esteem for them growing. Tasha and Elijah were his kind of people.

They swapped a prideful glace and answered in unison, "Yeah, that was us."

"And since we're missing the wedding," said Tasha, "we need your help."

Voices in the hallway infiltrated the suite, then a loud wail.

Elijah poked a roll of toilet paper through the grate. "Read it and flush," he instructed.

Tasha nodded hurriedly. "We gotta go, we can't be seen right now."

Connor took the roll, noting blue scribbles on the toilet paper, and jumped to the floor just as the door opened and Mom and Grandma Carey walked in.

"Hey, honey, whatcha doin?" Grandma Carey asked him.

Connor froze on the spot, like he was playing a game of statues and the music had just stopped. "I gotta go to the bathroom," he blurted and bounded for the bathroom door, the toilet paper roll squeezed in his fist.

"I know that feeling," he heard Mom sigh behind his back.

[***]

_Could this get any more boring?_ Connor asked himself. He would rather have watched cows graze than sit through the whole wedding ceremony. The minister had been blathering on about Uncle Cody's and Auntie London's special love for each other for _hours_. Again Connor resolved that he would never get married. Why would he make his friends and family suffer like this? Why would _anybody_? Had he known the wedding would be this dull, and had he not had a very good reason to be sitting up here, he would have tried to get grounded in Suite 2420.

He wanted to slouch in his chair, but Mom had already nudged him firmly several times to stay sitting up straight. She was seated next to him in a high-waisted purple dress that had a swishy skirt with rosettes on it. One hand rested lightly on her tummy bump. People tended to get funny looks on their faces when they asked her when the baby was due and she said September. It had happened quite a bit in the lobby while they mingled with guests.

"Shi, are you bored, too?" Connor asked the bump silently, pulling on the sleeves of his charcoal-grey suit. He hated having to wear a suit. He looked like a dork.

As the minister rambled and the numb feeling in Connor's butt worsened, along with the oppressive tightness of his necktie, his eyes roamed over the wedding party gathered on the stage. While a few key players were the same—Dad, Uncle Cody, Auntie London, Grandma Carey and Grandpa Kurt—the similarities between his parents' wedding and this extravaganza ended there.

The wedding chapel in Las Vegas had been cozy, although Auntie London had called it tacky, and just the right size for a wedding with seven people, plus a minister. The grand ballroom, however, was 10 times bigger and bursting with 650 guests and more flowers than the botanical gardens back home. Their scent hung heavy in the air, making Connor's nose tickle and his eyes water.

Auntie London, it had to be said, looked like a cream puff in her poufy, lacy bridal gown. Her hair was done up in an elegant twist with real diamonds woven through it. Curls wisped around her face, her ears dripped with more diamonds and her veil floated almost to the floor. She hadn't stopped beaming since gliding in on the arm of Moseby, who was sitting across the centre aisle with his red-haired wife, Mrs. Moseby. Tasha's and Elijah's mom, Connor presumed.

His own mom had not looked like a cream puff as a bride. She'd worn a long pink gown that Auntie London bought her because she needed to wear something new and apparently couldn't wear a white dress since she was divorced. Connor thought she'd never looked happier or more beautiful, and Dad had seemed to agree.

Dad and Uncle Cody had switched places, of course, since Uncle Cody was the groom today. Dad looked just as proud of Uncle Cody as Uncle Cody had of Dad. They were dressed identically, in tuxedoes this time instead of regular suits. In Vegas Uncle Cody had loaned Dad a dark blue suit after talking him out of wearing an Elvis Presley costume. Mom had decided the suit counted as both something borrowed and something blue, even though Dad was the one wearing it. Probably she was just glad he wasn't dressed up like a singer who'd been famous in the olden days.

Fanned out behind Uncle Cody and Auntie London were the members of the wedding party. On Uncle Cody's side stood Dad, Esteban Ramirez, the hotel manager who called him "little blond people," and a guy who'd introduced himself at the wedding rehearsal as Uncle Cody's friend from Harvard. The rest were bodyguards. Uncle Cody hardly ever went anywhere without his bodyguards. They were his posse.

The shortest person on Uncle Cody's side was the ring bearer, Seth, stepson of Brandi, Auntie London's favourite ex-stepmother. At first Connor had been bummed that he wouldn't get to be the ring bearer, because Seth had been drafted for the job before Uncle Cody and Auntie London knew Connor existed. His disappointment had worn off, though, when he learned what the ring bearer had to do—carry the wedding rings on a puffy, girly pillow. He nearly pitied Seth, who was fidgeting with the lace ruffle on the pillow, looking as bored as Connor felt.

On Auntie London's side stood Maddie, Brandi, somebody named Portia Tenenbaum and five other women whose names Connor couldn't remember. Kaley and Kassidy, in frilly white dresses and party shoes, stood nearby holding their bouquets and occasionally shuffling their feet. Little Kaley had yawned at least twice so far during the ceremony. Connor couldn't blame her. He stifled a yawn himself as his gaze panned back over the wedding party.

A moment later he was stifling the urge to laugh out loud. It had only been for a second, but definitely not his imagination—Dad had crossed his eyes at him. Connor felt another nudge in his ribs and turned to see Mom giving him a Look.

To keep his eyes off the stage, Connor scanned the rows for guests he recognized. Right behind him and Mom were Woody and Addison Finkwright, high school friends of his parents and his aunt and uncle. When he met them in the lobby, he'd stared in disbelief, thinking, _Addison's boobies are as big as my head_.

Next to Moseby and Mrs. Moseby sat a cluster of bodyguards who took up the rest of the front row on Auntie's half of the ballroom, concealing her dad. They were the reason Mr. Tipton couldn't walk her up the aisle and give her away. There were just too many of them. Connor wasn't even sure what row Mr. Tipton, who was also Uncle Cody's boss, was sitting in.

One face he did not see anywhere was Millicent's. When he'd asked Mom and Grandma Carey if she was OK, they said she'd gone someplace nice and quiet so she could rest.

Grandma Carey and Grandpa Kurt, who had been standing off to the side of the stage, stepped up to the microphone then. They hadn't sung at Mom and Dad's wedding, but what would a wedding at the Tipton Hotel be without some singing?

Together they launched into a song even Connor knew, Grandma Carey's voice sweet and clear as a bell while Grandpa Kurt strummed his guitar.

_Love, love, love  
Love, love, love  
Love, love, love  
_  
_There's nothing you can do that can't be done  
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung  
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game  
It's easy_

Connor swung his feet to the music, careful not to kick Mom by accident. She was singing along and so was pretty much everyone else, including Uncle Cody. Auntie London, however, was keeping quiet. Maybe she had a terrible singing voice.

_Nothing you can make that can't be made  
No one you can save that can't be saved  
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time  
It's easy_

_All you need is love  
All you need is love  
All you need is love, love  
Love is all you need_

Mom's eyes were on Dad, and he was watching her, too. A tear slipped down her cheek, but Connor knew he didn't need to worry. He could tell the difference between happy and sad tears now that he and Mom and Dad all lived together. When she reached up to wipe it away, her gold bracelet slid down her arm. It had belonged to Grandma Carey, and to her mother before her, but she'd given it to Mom in Vegas because she also had to have something old, and she'd worn it every day since.

_All you need is love  
All you need is love  
All you need is love, love  
Love is all you need  
_  
_Nothing you can know that isn't known  
Nothing you can see that isn't shown.  
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be  
It's easy_

Kaley and Kassidy were singing merrily, swaying from side to side, their blonde ringlets bobbing around their shoulders. Right then Kassidy looked straight at him and smiled shyly.

A heat spread out from Connor's cheeks to the tips of his ears, and he looked away. Kassidy was only six. She was a baby. It would be very embarrassing if she had a crush on him.

_All you need is love  
All you need is love  
All you need is love, love  
Love is all you need_

_All you need is love (All together, now!)  
All you need is love (Everybody!)  
All you need is love, love  
Love is all you need (love is all you need)  
(love is all you need) (love is all you need)  
(love is all you need) Yesterday (love is all you need)  
(love is all you need) (love is all you need)_

After the song, the minister returned to centre stage.

Connor heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the soles of his brand-new dress shoes. This was the biggest difference between the two weddings—Mom and Dad's had lasted 10 minutes from start to finish, whereas this one was _never_ going to end. What more could the minister possibly have to say?

But instead of starting another boring speech, he announced, "We will now hear the wedding vows, which the bride and groom have chosen to write themselves as a way to express their personal commitment to one another."

Connor sat up a little straighter, feeling liberated. This was his cue to start paying attention.

"At this time I'd like to remind you," the minister added, "that no audio or video recording devices are permitted during the wedding ceremony, as per the bride and groom's strict request for privacy."

Connor happened to know this wasn't exactly true, that Uncle Cody had insisted on the ban and although Auntie London had thrown a tantrum, Uncle Cody had refused to budge. The reminder was unnecessary, though, because security guards had checked everyone's bags and pockets at the door.

Uncle Cody went first, taking Auntie London's hands in his. "I, Cody Mitchell Martin," he said as he gazed into her eyes, "take you, London Leah Tipton, to be my best friend, my one true love, and my princess–" His voice shook and he broke off, sniffling and blinking as though he were about to bawl.

_Come on, Uncle Cody, _Connor willed him. _Don't be a cry-baby._

Fortunately Uncle Cody recovered enough to say, "From this day forward, for richer or for richest, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live."

_So they _are_ filthy stinking rich. I knew it!_

It was Auntie London's turn then, and she got through her vow without crying. "I, London Leah Tipton take you, Cody Mitchell Martin, to be my best friend, my one true love, and my knight in shining armour from this day forward, for richer or for richest, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live."

"May I have the rings, please?" the minister said to Seth, who handed them over.

Uncle Cody slid a gold ring onto the finger on which Auntie London wore her ginormous diamond engagement ring. "With this ring, I marry you," he said.

Auntie London did the same with the other ring. "With this ring, I marry you."

Connor's heart skipped and his hands twitched in his lap.

"By the power vested in me by the state of Massachusetts, I now pronounce you husband and wife," declared the minister.

"Yay, me!" cheered Auntie London, clapping her hands.

_One..._

"You may now kiss the bride," the minister informed Uncle Cody.

_Two..._

From the way he grabbed Auntie London, he didn't need to be told twice. Their lips mashed together in a big smooshy kiss.

_Three..._

In one swift motion Connor flicked his right hand up to adjust his necktie, letting the top button on his dress shirt peek out for a millisecond, then dropped his hand back into his lap.

A grin stole across his face and his blood pumped wildly in his ears.

_Mission accomplished._

Now there was another major difference between the two weddings. Connor hadn't actually seen his parents' kiss because Auntie London had put her hands over his eyes (which he was OK with, since parents kissing was yucky anyway), but not only had he seen Uncle Cody and Auntie London's kiss—a whole lot of other people would also get to see it.

When the newlyweds _finally_ stopped kissing, the minister proclaimed, "It is my privilege to introduce to you for the first time, Mr. Martin and Mrs. Tipton-Martin."

Everyone stood as the organist struck up a lively tune, and Uncle Cody and Auntie London strolled arm in arm down the centre aisle toward the exit, grinning and waving.

The moment had arrived for Connor to make his own exit.

"I gotta go to the bathroom," he whispered urgently to Mom, the second time he'd said those words today.

She was too busy clapping to even hear him.

_Cool._ Step by step, Connor inched away from her toward the far aisle. Once he reached it, he began to hurry past row and row after row of clapping, smiling guests.

The vent in which his new friends were waiting for him was all the way at the back of the ballroom, near the door. Already he could see the raised grate. Using what Connor's teacher would call "cooperation," Elijah would hold onto Tasha's legs so she could lean down to grab the minuscule camera that had been taped inside the toilet paper roll and was now masquerading as Connor's top shirt button. Elijah would pull her back into the vent, where she would upload the image of the kiss to her phone and send it off to a reporter at the _Weekly Enquirer_ who had promised to pay a million dollars for it.

And then all three of them would be rich! Even split three ways, a million dollars was a _ton _of money. Enough for a trip to the moon, or a hundred trips to Disney World or...

The floor suddenly disappeared from under Connor's feet.

A pair of arms had snatched him up and when they twisted him around, Connor found himself face to face with two bluish-green eyes and one very arched left eyebrow.

_Uh oh..._

"And where do you think you're going?" Dad asked.

"To the bathroom...?" Connor faltered, his heart sinking, feet dangling in the air. He could practically feel the button camera burning through his necktie like a fiery orb.

Dad's eyebrow quirked a little higher, while his right one stayed flat. He rarely moved it due to the scar he'd gotten in a waterskiing accident that involved a porcupine ("Don't ask," he always said whenever Connor prodded him for more details).

Before Connor could think of a better answer, Dad had plucked off the button camera and stowed it in a pocket on his tux. "Nice try, you two," he called into the vent.

Connor heard a muffled "Darn" from above, and his heart sank even lower. It would be pointless to try to plead his case. He was busted, caught red-buttoned, and he'd taken Elijah and Tasha down with him. And now he really would be grounded in Suite 2420.

Utterly crestfallen, he asked, "How did you know?"

To Connor's surprise, Dad began to laugh as though Connor had just told a super-funny joke. His eyes twinkled and he rumpled Connor's hair and Connor knew he wasn't in trouble after all.

"Did I ever tell you about the $20,000 kiss?" Dad asked as he carried Connor out into the hallway, to the rest of their family.

* * *

"See," said Justin Russo triumphantly to his sister Alex after Bailey's husband and son had passed them. "I _told_ you everything was going to work out."

The smugness in his tone made Alex want to slap him. But alas she couldn't cause a scene—not at the glitzy wedding of London Tipton and her nerdy boyfriend that was taking place 11 years in the future. Just because nobody had seen her and Justin quietly materialize in the back corner of this ballroom didn't mean they wouldn't be spotted soon. For one, unlike the showy guests who were watching the recessional go by, she and her brother were not dressed for a wedding— she in knee-length denim shorts, a pink tank top, and a multi-coloured paisley tunic, while Justin sported a short-sleeved grey plaid shirt, and grey jeans. With both of them holding wands, it was only a matter of time before they attracted attention. And then the balance of things would _really_ get messed up.

"Fine," she grumbled her defeat. "You were..." she swallowed, tasting the full vitriol of the word she was going to have to say, "right. Now let's just get back to the teen cruise before somebody sees us, OK?"

Justin responded with a satisfied nod and a wave of his wand.

A second later the two wizards had vanished.

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**A/N: You guys knew the wizards were going to show up sooner or later, right? Stay tuned for the epilogue, to be posted in a couple of days. Bailey's dresses in this chapter are from the episode "Beauty and the Fleeced." Connor is, of course, wearing the same outfit Zack wore in "Grounded on the 23rd Floor" from SLOZAC. The song is the Beatles classic "All You Need Is Love," a timeless truth which all the characters in this story have learned. Lots and lots of thanks for all the reviews and alerts and Favourites! Your support and interest has been so inspiring, motivating and helpful. Xoxoxo—Ellie**


	35. What Are You Going to Do?

**A/N: Here it is, the final chapter...

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**Epilogue: "What Are You Going to Do?"

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_That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day._

_Chapter 9,_ Great Expectations_ by Charles Dickens_

[-]

_As soon as she was certain her brother was definitely sleeping, Alex sprang into action._

_First she pulled her wand out of her carry-on bag. "_I have a promise to keep, thus brother stay asleep_," she intoned and waved her wand at him._

_Now the coast was officially clear. Alex dug the Forbidden Book of Spells out of Justin's messenger bag, where it was buried under nerdy sci-fi novels. Its black-and-red cover gleamed in her hands. She felt the book's magic pulsate into her fingers and up into her arms, a sure signal that she was destined to win the Family Wizard Competition, to become the next Russo Family Wizard. That was why Justin didn't know about this ultra-secret spell and she did._

_The second-last page of the book held the content she needed. As she waved her wand over the blank page, the words appeared, wobbly and crooked, but still legible. Alex read the spell several times until it was imprinted on her brain._

_"An action needs to be done undone. Bring me to Cabin 8-201." A third wave of the wand transported her to a cabin on the eighth deck, where her new friend and London Tipton were asleep in their beds. The heiress wore a rhinestone eye mask and was snoring softly._

_"Bailey," Alex hissed, shaking the other girl's shoulder. "Wake up."_

_Bailey sat up in bed. "Ashley?" she asked groggily. "What are you doing in here?"_

_Alex pulled the baffled girl to her feet and wrapped an arm around her. With a fourth wave of her wand, she uttered into the darkness, "_We have something major to check, so take us back to the Sky Deck_."_

[***]

"I'm a wizard, Bailey," Alex revealed once the two girls had arrived at their destination. "And as a wizard, my newest power is being able to tell when there's been a glitch on the space-time continuum." With her wand, she pointed to a tableau of four teens—Bailey, London Tipton, and the blond-haired Martin twins—all wearing life jackets. They stood frozen, steps from a doorway marked "Exit" in a corner of the dark Sky Deck.

"You're... you're a _wizard_?" The red-haired girl looked as though she'd seen not one but several ghosts—which in a way, she had.

Alex nodded and forged ahead. "From everything you told me this afternoon, and what Cody told my brother Justin, this is when the glitch happened. Instead of falling into the hot tub on the first day of school, you were pushed away by London Tipton." She aimed her wand at the unlucky heiress's right elbow. It angled sharply toward the figure of Bailey, dressed in boys' clothing. "This set off the chain of events leading up to today. If you'd fallen into the hot tub, everyone would have discovered you're a girl and a different timeline would have begun."

Bailey gaped at her. "What are you saying?" Her lips could hardly shape the words.

"That I can give you a chance to start over," Alex announced triumphantly. She flourished her wand, wizard power surging through her. It was the most intoxicating feeling she knew. "If you decide, right now, to move London's elbow one inch to the left, I'll say the magic words and you'll fall into the hot tub. And the past six months will be erased."

Still open-mouthed, Bailey stepped closer to the tableau.

Alex understood the girl would need a minute or two to absorb the meaning of the opportunity. Yet she felt sure Bailey would make the right decision. _But if she doesn't_, _the McReary Timereary spell will make her forget we ever had this conversation. And I'll have to take her to the Hannah Montana concert and the after-party._

"Everything?" Bailey asked, her voice almost a squeak. "Living a double life all those months? The media scandal? The disaster at Tipton Industries?"

"_Everything_," Alex confirmed. "But," she added, because she had to under Wizard Council law, "I can't guarantee they won't be replaced by other problems."

Bailey stood silently for a few moments. Then she began to walk in a slow semi-circle around the tableau, studying each figure. "Why are you giving me this chance?" she questioned. "Why me, Ashley?"

Alex hardly knew the answer herself. As much as her ego did want to pull off this epic time-reversing spell—Justin had been right about that—the rest of her felt genuinely sorry for the poor girl. It was very hard to explain. So she simply said, "I just want to help you, Bailey."

Bailey stretched her right hand tentatively toward London's elbow, then drew it back. "I'm just so confused," she murmured and took a step to the left. A second later, she turned to face Alex. "Ashley, you're a wizard, I trust your judgment." Both her tone and her eyes pleaded. "What do _you_ think I should do?"

Impatience flashed through Alex. The window in which she could use the handy McReary Timereary spell as a back-up plan was rapidly closing. "Look, I can't make this decision for you," she answered between clenched teeth. Wizard Council law also obligated her to say this.

"But what about my relationship with Zack?" Bailey asked in a small voice. Tears filled her eyes.

Alex chose to tell her the cold hard truth. "Sweetie, long-distance relationships don't last."

Bailey flinched at this and closed her eyes. When she opened them, her right hand was hovering at London's motionless elbow.

"What are you going to do?" Alex asked.

Bailey pulled her hand away. She looked to Alex. Then she extended her hand again.

Alex repeated her question. "What are you going to do?"

The next voice Alex heard was Justin's.

"She's not going to do anything," he said acidly, appearing in front of them, wand in hand. "And neither are _you_, Alex."

Before she could protest or grab for his wand, Justin had begun to utter the freeze frame spell developed by the one-legged Dr. Jay Gials: "_Gialsjay Timesday_."

Hopping on one leg, he turned to Bailey and waved his wand, intoning, "_Enough with this game, the past stays the same_."

Bailey disappeared and so did the tableau of London Tipton and the Martin twins, leaving the two wizards alone on the deserted, shadowy deck.

"What did you do that for?" Alex blustered once Justin had stopped hopping and she could react. She felt hot and prickly and tense all over. How _dare_ her brother barge in and ruin the biggest spell of her life?

"Because I can't let you do this," Justin replied, his face serious. "Glitch or not, we have to let this timeline continue. If we turn back time six months, everything could get screwed up. Like Bailey could fall into the hot tub and break her neck, or fall into the hot tub, land on London and break _her_ neck."

"Like that would really happen," Alex interrupted. The hot tub was only a few feet below the Sky Deck.

Justin ignored this. "I know everything seems dire for Bailey and London and Tipton Industries right now, but trust me, Alex, it's all going to work out in the end."

"How do you know?" Alex challenged him. Justin was talking crazy. He might as well have said Max was going to win the family competition. From the instant she'd met Bailey Pickett, Alex's wizard intuition had told her the girl and her friends were headed for disaster and heartbreak—a feeling that had only grown stronger throughout the hours she'd spent with Bailey at the smoothie bar. _She_ was the one who could uncover ultra-forbidden, time-reversing spells, who was meant to become the Family Wizard. How could Justin know stuff about the future and not her?

Justin shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as though these simple gestures were themselves the answer.

"I had a vision," he said after a too-long pause. "I know it sounds totally bizarre, but I was asleep in our cabin and suddenly I woke up and saw you were gone, and I had this vision."

"A vision?" Alex parroted, her eyebrows darting halfway up her forehead. Since when did Justin have visions? "What kind of vision?"

"A vision of a happy ending," Justin clarified. "It was so real, and at that moment I knew we had to let this timeline run its course."

"Yeah, right," Alex scoffed. "Sounds more like you ate too much at dinner and had a weird dream."

Justin frowned in thought, his face turning a deeper shade of serious. Then his eyes sparked and he smiled.

"You know what?" he said. "I can show you."

And as Alex watched, he lifted his wand.

****The End**

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**A/N: The quote from Dickens' great work (for which Chapter 25 was named) felt like an apt closing note for this tale because all events in this AU series stem from a single link on one memorable day when Bailey narrowly escaped falling into the hot tub on Day 1 at Seven Seas High. A very special thank-you goes out to Lodylodylody for a conversation that helped inspire this epilogue. Waldojeffers, I know you know which line is for you :) And, well, that's it, guys… the end of this v-e-r-y long story—about 10 chapters longer than I had originally planned! So much thanks for keeping me inspired with all your reviews, comments, alerts, and Favourites. I could not have done this without you!**

**And in other news: the CP/BF and I have another installment in the works tentatively titled **_**Repercussions: Part 1.5**_** that deals with what happened at Harvard, as referenced in Chapter 12. **_**A Day at Santa Monica Pier**_** is also getting a sequel because I know some of you have wondered if a certain question raised in that story would be answered (you know who you are :). As well, I've been working on an alt version of Chapter 26 "Doing the Right Thing" from Zack's POV, and have various other alt, early, and deleted scenes, including the original outline for this story, that will likely make their way onto FF sometime in the near-ish future. Thanks again, all of you, and happy reading :) **


	36. NEW Chapter 24: The Stake Out

**A/N: This scene was planned for the middle of Chapter 24 "Back in the Saddle," in which Zack embarks on a new mission to rescue his abducted benefactor Abdul Nazarov, but I ended up deleting it because I didn't think I could do it justice. I regret the deletion because Chapter 24 was definitely missing something without this scene and I think some of you could tell. Since the scene will be incorporated into the full published version of Chapter 24, I'm posting it here instead of in the Alternate Chapters collection so that you can all read (and hopefully enjoy) it.

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**Chapter 24: Back in the Saddle – The Stake-Out

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Slowly Farshad twisted around to look at Zack. The anguish in his swollen eyes, rimmed by wet lashes, cut into Zack deeper than any wound that had been inflicted on him over the past nine months.

"Don't worry, buddy," he said, trying to convey how truly sorry he was. "I'm gonna find your father and bring him home."

A short silence followed as Farshad regarded him. Then he pushed Zack away with both arms and ran into the house, crying stormily.

_OK, I deserved that._ Zack had a flashback to Farshad pointing the AK-47 at him outside the cave. _Should've killed me when he had the chance._ But before his thoughts could begin a morbid spiral, he got to his feet. The sun had set, daylight was fading fast, and beating himself up wouldn't help anyone. _Dude, get a grip, _he commanded._ These assholes have made it personal now. But if you dwell on your emotions, Abdul could die, and that is NOT an option._

To Abdul's shaken wife, he said, "Ayana, please bring me my guns. And a compass, and water and food to last a few days. And extra ammo, if you can." His brain was already instinctually re-entering mission mindset, breaking down the task into individual steps. Serving in Special Forces gave new meaning to the term "duty calls." Over the years he'd rushed out in the middle of dates, missed friends' birthday parties, cancelled vacation plans, the moment his phone rang with a call about a mission. These sacrifices were all part of being a special operator. Tonight was no different.

Ayana gave a dazed nod, then hurried toward the house.

To Kamran, he said, "I need to know _exactly_ what happened today, every single detail you remember."

Kamran nodded vigorously. His English skills were fairly strong, which would be a big help.

To Shararah, who was standing beside a yak, weeping softly, he didn't know what to say. His heart turned over in his chest. He could not have envisioned causing the sweet country girl such grief. She set down her bucket and followed Ayana, sparing him temporarily from having to find the appropriate words to express his guilt.

Within a few minutes, Ayana and Shararah came out with his AK-47 and a shoulder bag stuffed with supplies. He made sure the knife and handgun were inside. Since he had to move quickly, there was no time for lengthy farewells, but he couldn't leave without reassuring them.

He placed his hand on Ayana's slight shoulder. "I will be back with Abdul, no matter how long it takes," he pledged. "You have my word."

She nodded stoically, eyes shiny with tears. "Be careful, Zack," she uttered in Persian. "May Allah be with you."

Meeting Shararah's gaze was painful, yet when he compelled himself to, he saw trust, tenderness, even understanding. It was clear she didn't blame him for the catastrophe. He took her hand, trying to smile comfortingly, and she brought her lips to his knuckles.

"May Allah be with you," she whispered, and he smiled to show his gratitude.

Giving a final wave to Shararah and Ayana, he started down the dirt path to Kamran's village. As tragic as the circumstances were, Zack could not deny that he felt energized by the challenges ahead. Adrenaline burned through his veins, the air hummed with an electrical charge. This was going to be his second mission as a Delta Force operator, an elite counter-terrorist soldier, trained for emergencies like this. He'd spent enough time fighting for his own life these last few months; now he was ready to fight for someone else's again.

Along the way, he bombarded Kamran with questions.

"How many men surrounded Abdul?"

"Five."

"What were they wearing?"

"Plain black clothes."

"What language did they speak?"

"Russian."

"When did the Ultranationalists first come to this part of the country?"

"Just after the bomb last year. There is rumour of them setting up training camp near the border in Uzbekistan."

"Where did you hear this rumour?"

"My friend in the next town over. He tell me."

"What is the best way to get to the border?"

"By the Tolvi Pass, but is very narrow and very dangerous." Zack remembered Abdul's mention of landmines in the area.

At the north end of the village, Zack asked a favour. "Can you lend me a donkey?" Kamran's father, Abdul's younger brother Safar, owned several donkeys. The pack animals were ideal for navigating treacherous mountain routes, and Zack needed to preserve his feet this time.

"Yes, of course." Kamran loped off into the dusk.

He returned shortly, carrying a small bag, leading not one but two donkeys. "Let me come with you," he urged. "I know region very well. And I want to help my uncle." His eyes pleaded with Zack to be taken seriously.

Zack looked over the reedy, black-haired youth, dressed in jeans and a grey World Cup 2014 sweatshirt, and weighed the offer. On the one hand, he couldn't live with himself if anything happened to Kamran. On the other hand, Kamran was a source of valuable knowledge—the type only a local could possess. _Always listen to the guy on the ground_. Lack of local knowledge was the main reason he'd failed to reach Dushanbe in the first place.

"All right," he consented. "But only as far the next town."

Kamran beamed proudly. "Thank you." Then he handed Zack a black toque from the bag. "Put this on. With that blond hair you stick out like, how you say, a sore thumb?"

"Smart thinking," said Zack, impressed, as he concealed his shoulder-length mop. Delta Force operators specialized in blending in with the local populace. It was why they kept longer hairstyles than regular soldiers. Clad in Abdul's well-worn clothes, which hung on his lanky frame, Zack was confident he could pass for an inconspicuous villager. The disguise would allow him to travel by day, essential for saving time.

As they rode toward the town, Zack continued to develop the situation. Kamran informed him that foreign men with guns had been seen there as recently as last week.

"I need to you to show me where," Zack requested once they reached the haphazard collection of streets spread at the base of a large mountain.

"There is house off to side, near centre of town."

"I want you to show me where it is, but we can't go down the main road. Just point it out to me. Then you have to leave."

Kamran nodded his assent. They tied the donkeys to a post, and Kamran began to lead him past rows of squat brick houses, with dimly lit windows. When they came to an alley, Kaman peeked around the first corner and pointed. "That is it there."

Zack saw a bland-looking white house with three curtained windows, about 250 feet away. It reminded him of the target building in Operation Scorpion Strike. "Are you sure?" he probed. A mistake could have fatal consequences.

"Yes, I am sure," Kamran said. "My friend live nearby."

Satisfied with this answer, Zack settled into the shadows to watch. He'd spent hours scoping out buildings such as these, but never on his own, without a highly trained team to provide cover. At the first sign of movement, he would have to send Kamran home. At least he was suitably armed and dangerous, with plenty of ammo leftover from the prison escape. Night vision goggles would have been a godsend, though.

Thirty minutes crawled by. He looked to the ground to rest his eyes for a necessary five minutes. He couldn't risk eye fatigue. He took a quick glance at his watch. It was almost 10:00 now and Kamran was still with him. The boy's parents might be worried sick already.

"I see something," whispered Kamran into his ear.

Zack discerned a faintly outlined figure behind a second-floor curtain. _Here we go_, he thought as the adrenaline rush kicked in. _It's show time._

"OK, Kamran, you must go home now," he ordered.

"Let me stay," the teenager said boldly. "I know how to use an AK-47." He fingered the handle of the assault rifle, Zack's most trusted companion once again.

Zack bit off the words, one at a time, in a commanding officer's voice. "Kamran, this is not a game. Go home _now_." The possibility that terrorist snipers had already spotted them flitted through his thoughts. He knew how to move undetectably, but Kamran didn't. "Think of your mother and father," he added sternly.

Kamran's features drooped, but the message had hit the right nerve. "Take care. I hope we will see you and my uncle again soon." He shook Zack's hand. "May Allah be with you."

"Thanks for everything, buddy." Zack clapped his other hand on Kamran's back to reinforce that he wasn't brushing him off. "See you soon."

Kamran slunk away in the direction from which they'd come, erased by the darkness almost immediately.

Relieved, Zack restored his undivided attention to the target house so that he could count movements through the windows. At best guess, three or four people were inside.

An hour and a half later, when his nerves were wired tightly with anticipation and his eyes were burning from straining in the gloom, the front door opened. A lone man walked out in a dark, non-descript clothes.

_Perfect._ Zack inched down the alley, keeping the man in his sight as soon as he reached the street. He began moving from house to house, following the man's direction. Judging from the casual swing of his stride, he was out for an evening stroll.

_Bad move, sucker. _

Three blocks later, the man turned down an alley.

Within five soundless seconds, Zack had ducked down the same alley, and in a fluid motion, he sped up and tackled the man from behind, knocking him to the ground. Then he banged the man's head into the dirt, guaranteed to stun him further, and dragged him by the shoulder into a narrow space between two derelict buildings. Zack pushed him upright against a wall, pulled out his handgun, and pointing it firmly at the man's head, slapped him across the face with his left hand.

The man stared groggily at him. He was bald and had a stocky build, a wispy goatee befitting his doughy, thug-like face.

Zack slapped him hard again, quickly jamming the gun to his forehead as the man started to lunge at him. He would not accept silence.

The man froze and his arms dropped, his wide-eyed expression belying his shock.

"English?" Zack rasped, gun steadily in place.

The man shook his head, as much as he was able to, a universal negative gesture. _Can't help you. Won't help you._

"Russian?" Zack asked next.

This time the man nodded, eyes moving inward to the gun. Zack could read his thoughts. _Shit, I'm going to die._ Exactly where Zack wanted him.

"Today in Panjakent some people went missing. Where did they go?" Zack used his most menacing tone, one with which people had greatly difficulty arguing.

The man shook his head. Zack registered an act of denial and twisted the gun, watching him shudder with pain and fear escalate in his now-darting eyes. He was making progress. "Ultranationalists?" he prompted.

"Don't know what you're talking ab–"

Zack removed the gun from the man's forehead and aimed it at his groin.

"I don't know anything about–" he stuttered.

_Click_. Zack pulled back the hammer with his thumb.

A mad look of fear drew back the muscles of the man's jaw, exposing of mouthful of crooked, tobacco-stained teeth and releasing a hot stale breath into Zack's face. His pupils dilated. He was visibly trying to calculate whether Zack was bluffing.

_I. Am. Not. Bluffing._

The sag of his heavy eyelids signalled defeat. "They're being taken for questioning," he muttered.

"Good man." Zack praised with simulated sincerity. _Politeness is a tactic, not a surrender_. The tenet of survival applied here, too. "Where?"

A moment of hesitation earned him another assault. Zack seized him by his neck, and drove the gun into the man's groin. "Where?" he growled through clenched teeth.

The man let out a pitiful whimper.

"Where?" Zack repeated. He delivered a deeper twist as though the man's quaking flesh were a cork and the gun a corkscrew.

"Factory in the south," the man bleated, choosing his manhood over his cohorts and their secrets.

And with that, Zack had all the intel he needed.

He eased the hammer back in, watched the man relax, then bashed his temple with the butt of the gun. _I could pound your head to a pulp. I could do it right now._ But such rage had to be quelled. He had to stay divorced from his emotions. Farshad, and the rest of the Nazarov family, were depending on him, and it was too early to start racking up a body count. Far too early.

There would be plenty of opportunity, plenty of need, for that later.

_Stay in control_, he reminded himself. _Don't let this get too personal. This guy is just a grunt anyway. _

Yet he couldn't leave the grunt out in the open, less than a quarter of a mile from the target house, bruised, demoralized, and itching for revenge. Whipping the shoelaces from the man's running shoes, he bound his hands and feet, then tore a swathe from his shirt to gag him. For the pièce de résistance, and to cover his tracks, he dragged him to a shed at the bottom of a yard across from the alley and shoved him inside.

The first stage of Operation Rescue Abdul was over. Time to retrieve the donkey.

It was waiting for him where he'd left it, munching leisurely on a patch of scrappy grass. Zack untied it and climbed on.

Nudging the donkey into a trot with his heels, heading south, Zack gave in to the impulse to smirk. _Man, Tommy would laugh if he knew I was riding off to battle on an ass. How's that for being back in the saddle?_

[Followed by surprise attack on Ultranationalists, where Zack unites with Soap MacTavish and Task Force 141.]

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**A/N: So there you have it, the way Chapter 24 was supposed to read. Thank goodness for the flexibility of the FF site! :) If you liked this version better, please feel free to let me know. The latest installment of this series (now officially a saga) **_**Never Be Another Tonight**_** aka **_**Repercussions: Part 3**_** is now being posted. It's in the M-forum, but still has heart-felt family moments, and Connor Pickett-Martin is the main character. Thanks for reading, and love always, Ellie – Xoxoxo **


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